The Wild Card
by Aya Renee
Summary: James had spent weeks running from his past. Sure, he didn't exactly have his life planned out, not in so many words, but still nothing prepared him for the moment when the former commander Shepard barged into his life and made away with his lucky deck.
1. Chapter 1

The Mass Effect universe and characters belong to Bioware.

[Immediately following upon the events of Conviction. Currently includes references to events in Conviction and Arrival, and other Mass Effect spoilers as the story progresses]

* * *

><p>"They sure know how to pick 'em."<p>

The words, though soft-spoken, startled James out of his reverie as he stood in the open doorway. The source of the voice was hidden in the shadows on the far side of the darkened room. He belatedly realized that, while his quarry was hidden, he himself could be easily observed since he was standing in the pool of light flooding in from the hall. This put him at a distinct disadvantage. His soldier's mind, honed by years of tactical training and battle experience, screamed at him to find a better position.

He took a few steps to the left, away from the filter of light. With his back now safe to the wall, he let his eyes adjust to the low light in the brig. "I'm sorry?" he asked, absent-mindedly, as he surveyed his surroundings. The room was Spartan, bare cold metal, a bench cot on the far side, not much in the way of comfort, but it wasn't meant to be a cozy place.

"They're putting on such a show with my arrest and transfer. This nice cell, pretty little military-grade bracelets, and now you. I mean, look at you, are they paying you by muscle mass?"

There was teasing sarcasm in her words, but he didn't get as far he had in life, or as successful at gambling for that matter, without the ability to read people and their emotions. He sensed bitterness, and perhaps, anger. He stiffened, now wary, weighing his response carefully. He felt like he was locked in a room with a caged tiger, despite her restraints, and the last thing he wanted to do was pull her tail.

He chose to ignore her remark, for now, and found relative safety in a rare moment of diplomacy. "I'm James," he responded carefully, "Lieutenant James Vega. I've been assigned to guard you during your transfer back to Earth." His words echoed harshly in the small room, louder than he had intended.

He heard a sigh, so soft he might have missed it, except for the darkness in the room and the tenseness of the moment honing his hearing to alert precision. He mentally chided himself. He was better than this, cowering in the corner, afraid to say what he really wanted. He made a decision to retake control of the situation, if it was ever his to begin with.

He strode to the open side of the bench and stood a few small feet away from the woman who had saved the galaxy and was a personal hero to more of his fellow soldiers than he could count. He swiftly shook those thoughts away, and steeled himself to be cool and impassive, despite his nerves and sweaty palms. He realized now just how much he had been dreading this moment, seeing the derision in her gaze. He wished he could have met her under different circumstances, spoken with her about her experiences, learned from her decisions. But he knew she would probably resent him, even though he was just doing his job. Hell, he almost resented himself, and he didn't even want the damn job. He pushed his worry aside, and made a decision to stay calm, collected and polite. If she felt the need to vent, let her. He could take it, a small sacrifice in the face of everything she had suffered and accomplished. He forced himself to relax, realized too late that he had been painfully clenching his jaw, and turned to look down at her.

He had expected anger. Anger he could handle, understand, deflect. But nothing could prepare him for the moment when Shepard lifted her face and met his searching eyes with her own piercing gaze. He saw no anger directed at him. Perhaps there was a hint of idle curiosity, and something else that made him even more tense than before. Sadness is what he saw, tucked away in the depths where she probably thought it was hidden, and he had never been able to see it in a woman without wanting to cure her of it. He narrowed his gaze, jerking himself upright as he fought his natural instinct to reach out to her. He shifted abruptly, pacing away to his previous spot on the far wall, before he did something to embarrass himself, like try to soothe the caged tiger.

So much for taking control.

* * *

><p>Shepard eyed her huge guard with unabashed curiosity. Now that he had moved away from her, she released the breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding. He was tense, and he looked uncomfortable, and she knew it was her fault. She sighed with resignation. It was always her fault, though it was never her intent. Her name and her past followed her everywhere. She laughed to herself at such a ridiculous interpretation of that situation. Of course they didn't follow her, they led her, preceded her, and no one met the woman who hadn't first encountered the legend.<p>

It was damned irritating, but she had gotten good over the years at talking to people, making them comfortable, getting them to open up and forget for a moment who she was. It was a talent, and she was proud in her ability to talk to just about anyone, to make connections, maybe even a few friends along the way.

She snorted. What a crock, her own little fantasy. No one really knew her anymore, it was a rare occasion when someone took the time to look past all the heroics to understand the woman behind them, and with recent events catching up to her, she doubted anyone would take the chance again. This man was no different, would likely never see her as anything but a series of stupid titles and reports, the sum of her life, on paper. Despite knowing this, she found that she was yet again unable to stop herself from conversation, finding small comfort in her gift for gab, and desirous of a way to alleviate the tension in the room.

"Look, I'm sorry for my flippant comment. I know this can't be easy on you either, Lieutenant Vega. I was informed that Anderson chose you personally, and I have no doubt he picked the best. It is a pleasure to meet you, though I could wish it were under better circumstances."

He looked up at her suddenly, surprised anger in his gaze, which confused her. But when he spoke again it was quieter than before, albeit with the same gruff manner. "The pleasure is mine, Commander." He coughed, and after a long moment of hesitation in which he seemed to be contemplating his next move, he paced back to stand before her again. Meeting her gaze with a directness that she had not expected, he stared at her, and he appeared nonplussed and confident now.

She shifted awkwardly under his assessing gaze, biting back a sharp retort in favor of waiting to see how he would handle her. The slow smirk lifting one corner of his mouth was her only warning that he had reached some sort of a decision.

* * *

><p>How <em>dare<em> she? He must be dreaming. In all of his mad, freaked out expectations of this moment, he had never thought, not once, that he would be the object of _her_ sympathy. She saw right through him, saw that he was uncomfortable, and with the Reapers and galactic safety and 300,000 dead Batarians no doubt weighing heavy on her mind, she went easy on him.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit. Maybe he had _wanted_ her to be angry, because _he_ was so angry: angry at his past, at his current situation, at _her_. No, he corrected himself, he wasn't angry at her, he was angry _for_ her. How could they treat her like this, after all she had done? He had taken out some of his anger at those Batarian mercs on Omega, but it wasn't enough, it was never enough. He was so angry he nearly choked on it, could almost taste the bile in the back of his throat, and he had wanted to see that anger in her, feel it mirroring and fueling his own. He could have handled that. He ached for it. If he could just focus on the anger, anyone's anger, then maybe, just maybe, the guilt wouldn't catch up to him.

But she wasn't angry. He had read her wrong, he _hated_ that, and now he felt deflated, raw and open. No one had ever gotten under his skin so quickly. How _dare_ she?

As he struggled with these thoughts he slowly regained control of his emotions. Slapping a mask of indifference on his face, he took his time moving back to stand before her again. As their eyes met for the second time, he saw that she too had taken care to hide her emotions, her gaze now guarded and unreadable. But he knew what lie underneath her inscrutable gaze, he knew it because he hid the same torment, and in that moment of realization, he made his decision.

"I hear you're good with your mouth."

The pleasure he gained from seeing her mask slip as the shock of his comment registered on her face was worth any possible sharp retort. "Excuse me?" she sputtered. He pressed his advantage while he had it, as he doubted many people left the commander without words for very long.

"You know, talking, making deals, diplomacy. Negotiation. I hear you're good at it. They say you're more than good at it. I hear tell you can even talk a hanar into just about anything."

He saw confusion replace the shock, and he was too caught up in his joke to wonder why he was able to read her so easily, this woman known for her calm, intractable demeanor. "I'm hoping you might do me a favor, negotiate for me." He leaned in closer, savoring the change of emotions dancing in her eyes, and he found himself so delighted that her sadness was gone for the moment that he almost lost his train of thought.

"Negotiate what?" she responded, now as wary as he had been earlier.

"My salary. I mean, I had never thought about it before, but you are absolutely right. These guns should _not_ come cheap, you know?" He flexed his arms to highlight his argument, and leaned down even closer so that he was well within her reach. "Go on, have a feel, I know you wanna. I saw you checkin' out the view when I first walked through that door."

The slow smile warmed her face like the morning rays of the sun, and she threw back her head in a delighted laugh. He had seen no such thing, she had made certain of that, as she had chosen her spot in the room with measured care. But as she sensed his satisfaction in making her laugh, she wondered if she should have bothered so much with her petty defenses. She found herself even more curious about this strong soldier, gazing at her with a warmth that took little notice of the tenuousness of their newfound connection. She also found herself wanting to ignore the warning bells in her head that told her perhaps she should have bothered more.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep had always been difficult for her. She was better on ships, had grown up a spacer brat, and she found the low hum of a ship in the dark of night soothed her to sleep when nothing else could. Sleeping in a quiet room was the worst sort of torment for her tortured mind, and she was left with nothing but the rapid staccato of her thoughts to keep her company. She knew what she had to do, she was solid in her purpose, but the knowledge of the alternative to her choices didn't make things any easier.

Death, there was so much of it. She had dealt it with a heavy hand, and endured it with an even heavier heart. She had shored up so much guilt, people no doubt wondered how she slept at night. Not well, she snorted to herself, but she doubted that fact would comfort anyone, especially not the Batarians.

It was her first night in her new room at the detention center, and she could only hope the nights would get better. She sat up abruptly, giving up her attempt at sleep, and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. Rummaging through a pile of data pads, she noticed a small, unfamiliar box. She smiled when she recognized the insignia, and wondered if this was standard detention center fare. Dumping the contents into her left hand, she looked forward to feeling the smooth surface of the cards under her fingers as she took a seat and spread them on the desk.

But they were worn, the surfaces rough, the edges frayed, and she wondered why she was left with someone's old and used deck of cards. She shrugged, and found herself musing as to who had played with these cards before her, what manner of soldier had been stuck in this room, and in what place he might be now, where there was no need of games. Laying out the cards with care, she distracted herself with the thoughts of her unnamed soldier, and the calming, unwavering rules of the game in front of her.

* * *

><p>James walked into her room the next morning, breakfast tray in hand, concerned that he was entering without permission, even though his position as her guard required none. Yet there had been no response to his request to enter, and he sure as hell wasn't going to carry all this food back to the mess. He got teased enough for his own hardy appetite, and grabbing enough of a helping for himself and a hungry biotic had garnered him no small amount of ribald remarks.<p>

She wasn't in the room. He felt panic for a moment, constricting his chest, while he wondered what the punishment would be for losing The Commander Shepard on his second official day of duty. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed her at the desk in the far corner of the room, to his immediate left. She was asleep, and it didn't look comfortable. He set the tray of food down on the edge of her bed, distracted for a moment by the disheveled sheets. It looked like there had been an epic battle, and the sheets had taken a beating. He knew what it was like to try to find solace in sleep, and find only torment instead.

He took quiet steps to Shepard's bent form, uncertain how best to wake her, uncertain if he even wanted to. She looked so different in the morning light than when he had seen her last, in the darkened brig and the night-lighting of the hall when he had dropped her off at her room. She looked softer now in sleep, like how she had looked when she had laughed at his teasing joke, before her defensive mask had slipped back into place.

Her head was bent at an awkward angle, her cheek resting on the surface of the desk, her dark mahogany hair falling across the side of her face and over her mouth. He moved a hand to tuck the lock of hair back behind her ear, marveling as a few soft strands strayed from the lock and curled around his finger like a lover. He reached to touch her hair again, knowing he was playing with fire but unable to stop himself, when he noticed what else lie beneath her sleeping form.

The cards from her game of Solitaire were still in order, a testament to her uninterrupted moments of sleep, in direct contrast to the twisted bed sheets. The perfectly curved bow of her mouth rested over the Two of Hearts near the bottom of a column of cards, _his_ cards, and he was amazed how quickly his mind moved to thoughts of her generous mouth on anything else of his. The heat of desire curled low in his belly, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of images, fueled by additional thoughts of the bed behind him and other, glorious ways the sheets could become so tangled. He groaned to himself, took a deep breath, and peeked again at the commander. He thought how much her neck would hurt, sleeping in that position, and sympathy smothered some of his desire. He reached out a hand to shake her awake at the shoulder.

* * *

><p>She was having a good dream, for once. She was safe, and warm, and happy. No one needed saving, no one passing blame. She was in the arms of her soldier. She couldn't see his face, but that didn't matter. She had fallen asleep curled against his side, and he slowly caressed her hair from her face. She shifted closer, picking her head up to see him better, to get a glimpse of his face, but his arm around her shoulder gave her a bold and insistent shake.<p>

She snapped awake, the fog of her dream slipping away as she became alert to her surroundings. She was sitting at the desk, she must have fallen asleep while playing. She spied an opening for the card next in the pile, and automatically reached to place it in position when the pain hit her neck. She moaned, moving to rub the aching muscle, when she felt the warm hand resting on her shoulder. She turned to see James' wide gaze, and he looked as startled as she felt. He moved abruptly back a few feet, and she wondered how in hell she had noticed the damn card before a man's hand on her shoulder. She must be losing her edge.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Commander. I've brought you breakfast." He gestured to the bed behind him. Her stomach growled and she realized she was starving. She smiled at him in thanks, and moved to grab her share.

"You think all that's for you, ma'am?" he teased.

"Isn't it?" she responded, arching one delicate eyebrow and taking a generous bite of toast.

Oh, she was good. He could read a bluff on a volus from across a crowded room, and although her face gazed at him with an air of surprised innocence, he knew she was teasing.

"No _way_ you could eat all that, biotic goddess or not!"

"Oh Lieutenant, you have no idea. But I'm not a cruel goddess. I can share, since you went to all the trouble to bring the food to me in the first place." She scooted the tray over and gestured for him to join her.

He chuckled as he sat with her at the edge of the bed, reaching for a fork and plate of eggs. He couldn't resist studying her through the veil of his eyelashes. She ate voraciously, not at all uncomfortable with his presence, and he joined her in enjoying the hearty meal. He desperately wanted to ask her about the events of Aratoht and Project Base, but he knew it wasn't the right time. He glanced around the tidy room, his eyes falling again on the unfinished game of cards on the desk.

"So you play cards as good as you eat, huh Commander?"

Her bright green eyes twinkled at him as she finished her mouthful. "What makes you say that, Lieutenant?"

He glanced again at his lucky deck. It had been his favorite, a reminder of brighter days, and the youth he once was. The memories were so many, the good and the bad, that he could imagine the feel of the cards in his hands even now. They had given him comfort during the times he had spent locked up in a brig himself, as a brash young soldier. It had happened more times than he actually cared to remember, though his short stints were never in accommodations as nice as this. He'd set the deck on the desk while she had been busy with her footlocker, right before he had left her and locked her door for the night. He still didn't know why he'd done it, couldn't even explain to himself why he had the urge to provide comfort to this woman he barely knew. He'd done it without thinking, had left a part of himself on that table, and in the harsh light of day he found himself embarrassed to confess that the cards were his, as if it would expose something of himself that he wasn't ready to show her.

He shrugged off his thoughts and observed, "That looks like a well-played deck. Someone loved it."

Her face beamed back at him. "I thought so too! It's not my deck, I found it in here. I couldn't help but wonder where it came from." She stood up, setting down her now empty plate, and moved over to the desk. She stared down at the deck, and softly ran the pad of her finger over the once glossy surface of the card nearest the edge. He felt himself clench at the sight as he watched her slow, unthinking caress, and he mentally shook off the lusty thoughts that had once again invaded his head. How was she able to get to him like this? Her voice seemed to come from far away, as if she were lost in thought. "I spent most of last night imagining what kind of a soldier they might have belonged to. It's silly, right? But it kept my mind busy, I guess. Hell, I even dreamed about him, I think I was dreaming about him when you woke me up, isn't that funny?"

She heard a muffled choke from the bed behind her, and she turned to see the lieutenant covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide over the broad edge of his palm. "Too much pepper," he growled. The explanation sounded lame compared to the thoughts racing through his head, but she seemed to accept it as she turned her attention back to the desk.


	3. Chapter 3

Shepard entered her room in a daze, and collapsed face-down on her bed with a long suffering sigh. James watched her from the doorway. At any other time he might have smiled at her antics, seeing her lose her composure, her perfect control. He doubted many got to see her like this. But he knew the trial was wearing her thin. He could see the effects despite her attempts to hide behind the calm, collected mask she put on each morning before she left the room. Her eyes, so incredibly expressive when she was alone with him, were haunted, and her appetite was waning. He doubted anyone could notice the former, but he was good at reading what people tried to hide. As far as the latter, he had always grabbed the same amount of food for them, and he knew lately that he was eating some of her portion.

It had become a morning habit for him over the past two weeks to bring her breakfast as she finalized her reports and defense for the day. She hadn't asked, hadn't expected it, but he insisted that he didn't mind. And he didn't, though he would never tell her just how much he secretly enjoyed their mornings together, when she seemed easy and relaxed, before she was put through the public wringer for the day. They had fallen into routine, and an easy camaraderie had developed between the two soldiers, as they shared the more light-hearted stories about their experiences in the field. But each time he had tried to ask about her recent time with Cerberus, she would shut him out, shielding herself from his attempts to dig deeper. Not that he could blame her, as there were several notable events in his own life that he kept buried where he hoped she would never find them.

"This is such a waste of time, we should be making preparations for the Reapers!" The frustration in her voice was clear enough, despite being muffled by the pillow. He was trying to think of an appropriately supportive response, when she sat up abruptly and punctuated her remark by throwing the offending pillow on the floor. She glared at it, and he feared for a moment it would burst into flames at the fierceness of her gaze.

He bit the inside of his cheek so hard at that thought, he tasted the iron tang of blood in his mouth. He was sympathetic, he really was, but seeing her mini tantrum was so unexpected, so damn charming, it took everything he had not to smile. She snapped her attention to his face, and for a moment he felt trapped in the raw glare of her gaze.

* * *

><p>He was laughing at her frustration. Not out loud, no, the efficiently calm lieutenant would never dare, but she could read it in his dark eyes as easily as he read her. It bothered her, seeing the constant concern and sympathy in his gaze. It bothered her because she knew that he saw behind her carefully maintained facade that soothed everyone else away. She didn't know how he did it, couldn't yet find a proper defense against this soldier who was slipping so easily past the walls she had built.<p>

The longer she tried to stare him into submission, the more she noticed his lips twitching. She felt herself relaxing under his hooded gaze, and tried to bite back her own reluctant smile. She'd always been able to laugh at herself, and as her thoughts drifted to the pillow at her feet, she realized how ridiculous she must have appeared. Unable to completely smother the laughter brimming just under the surface, she let out an indelicate snort.

The unladylike sound proved the catalyst to his own wide grin, and before she knew it they were both laughing at the shared moment. With his attention riveted on her smiling face, she used a light biotic throw to toss the pillow in a swift arc through the air. His eyes widened in shock, but his reflexes were sharp, and he caught the soft missile moments before it hit him square in the face. The sound of his deep chuckle warmed her heart, and she felt her toes curling in her boots as she sat back down on the bed.

He brought the pillow down in front of his chest, and folded his arms around it. He tried to give her his best stern glare, but he couldn't seem to take it seriously enough, not with the mischievous twinkle still lingering in her eyes. But as her gaze slowly lowered, he thought he saw something else that he couldn't quite name, hidden in their mysterious depths.

* * *

><p>She stared at his brawny arms, crossed tightly around her pillow against his chest. They were so strong, so secure, and she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be held so close against his muscular frame, to feel his warmth pressing against her. She had been a long-limbed, gangly and precocious teen, but she had developed into a tall, striking woman. Her confident and direct demeanor had always seemed to intimidate most men, even before her string of military successes made her a larger than life persona. And there weren't many men, outside of her comrades in arms, who wanted to get close to a human biotic. But the lieutenant never seemed intimidated by her presence, and she noticed that she felt different around him. He was so large, when she was near him she felt, for the first time in her life, small.<p>

It was intoxicating. And it was so unlike her. She was capable, impulsive, stronger than most men, unshakeable in her resolve and confident in her abilities. But as he walked her to the courtroom each morning, she couldn't help but notice their differences, how delicate and soft she seemed in comparison to his hard, muscular body. It should have made her feel weaker, but it didn't. She just couldn't seem to help herself, and she wasn't naive enough to deny it. She liked it. She liked the way he made her feel so feminine.

This morning, as they had weaved their way through the busy hall, she was so caught up in her thoughts of the continuing trial that she had nearly bumped into a young man rushing around a corner. The lieutenant, without missing a step, had placed his hand at the small of her back, and firmly guided her closer to his side to avoid the collision. She had never been treated like that. She supposed no one had ever thought she, the ever poised and capable commander, had needed it. Hell, she didn't even know what she had been missing, until he moved his hand away and the sudden loss of its reassuring warmth had caused her to break her long, lanky stride. She could still remember the heat of his touch on her back. She knew he hadn't meant anything by it, but she felt herself flushing at the memory.

She broke his gaze, their laughter having died away, and she hoped he hadn't been able to read the dangerous direction of her thoughts as well as he seemed to read everything else.

He moved further into the room to toss the pillow back on the bed, and an idea entered his mind. "You play anything else besides those solitary games, Commander?"

"You mean do I play something with higher stakes?" she mumbled, her attention fixed on her hands folded above her knees, an inexplicable flush creeping up the back of her neck.

"Skyllian Five?" he suggested, an unreadable gleam in his eye.

She finally met his gaze again, a look of frank curiosity in her face. "I've played a bit, here and there. I mean, I know all the rules. You go easy on rookies?"

As he stared at her open, guileless expression, he realized that he had been wrong earlier, when he had mentally assessed her bluffing ability as good. He wasn't looking at a good bluffer, he was staring down a master. He'd stake his entire savings that this woman had played a significantly larger amount of poker than 'a bit,' and he instinctively knew that her innocent plea to the contrary had likely brought down no small amount of contenders. So she thought she could pull one over on him, did she?

He met her gaze with a calculated grin. "Sounds good, I'd be happy to teach you a few tricks, warm you up to my level."

He doubted she knew he could see right through her sly smile as she responded. "Sure, do you have a deck?"

He looked over at the desk in worried confusion. "I thought you had a deck."

She nodded her head. "Well, I do, but I didn't notice right away that it's missing a card, that first night when I fell asleep drooling all over them. I didn't need the extra suit for Solitaire, but we might want it for Skyllian Five, you think?"

He froze. The Ace of Stars.* He felt it burning a hole in his pocket, he had forgotten to put it back with the deck before he gave it to her. He was so accustomed to carrying it with him, he hardly even noticed its continued presence tucked away in the folds of his uniform. He found himself at a momentary loss for words as he met her questioning gaze. "Yeah, I've got another deck, but not with me. Tell you what, you relax tonight, brush up on the rules, and we'll play tomorrow. It'll be Friday, so you won't have to worry about prepping to play Cassandra for old men who only want to play politician."

She smiled softly. "Is that a mythological reference, Lieutenant? I didn't realize you had brains to match all that brawn."

He looked slightly hurt by her teasing comment, which had come out harsher than she intended, but he quickly shuttered his gaze. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Commander." He walked slowly towards the door, ready to leave her for the night. "Yet." he added, as he turned one last time to look at her.

"Yet?" she questioned.

"Yeah, well, we gotta have some sort of stakes for our friendly little game, and there's plenty more I'd like to know about you."

She met his gaze for a long, lingering moment before slowly nodding her assent to his suggestion. She smiled to herself as he left, her excitement of the coming game not fully alleviating the sting of loneliness she felt at his departure. She stopped to pick up the deck of cards from the desk, thinking she might play herself to sleep in bed this time, as the cards had provided her some small comfort. She loved the simplicity of the game, the unchanging rules, and perhaps most of all she loved the frivolity of the stakes. She could lose, and it didn't matter. She stripped to her soft cotton tank, and crawled into bed, grabbing the poor beleaguered pillow that sat tottering near the edge, looking as forlorn as she felt. Hugging it to her chest, she realized too late that it smelled of him, and she buried her face against the fabric, breathing in the heady scent, not bothering to wonder why it seemed so familiar. She fell into an easy sleep that night, for the first time since her transfer to the detention center, and she dreamed again of her faceless soldier.

* * *

><p>*[Stars = fifth suit of cards used in Skyllian Five poker games, inspired by late 19th and 20th century decks that utilized a fifth suit, as well as the current "Stardecks," which also incorporate a fifth suit, the black and red star. Current digging didn't get me any information on the actual details of Skyllian Five, so this is my interpretation.]<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_We remain in doubt regarding your fitness for duty in light of your recent connections with the known terrorist organization, Cerberus, and your destruction of the Bahak system._

James felt the surge of anger within him, clawing again to get out. He clenched his fists, felt his blunt nails digging into his palms. He wanted something to punch, but there was no outlet for his temper within the stifling walls of the courtroom. He could only watch helplessly as the stuffy bastards made their announcement.

_You are hereby stripped of your rank of Lieutenant Commander, and you are relieved of your assignment as executive officer of the Normandy._

If he hadn't been forcing himself to watch her closely, he might have missed her mask of composure slipping away, the barest hint of how badly she was affected, before a slight tick in her pale cheek signified to him that she was winning the fight to appear impassive. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin an imperceptible fraction, again immovable and unwavering. His eyes weren't the only ones trained on her in this crucial moment, not by a long shot, and he was pleased to see that she was giving them nothing, the self-righteous pricks. He didn't stop to analyze why he felt so possessively proud of her in that moment.

_You will remain in custody until a further decision can be made regarding our diplomatic situation with the Batarians, and we expect your continued cooperation in your investigation into the Reaper scenario._

The words echoed in her head as she stood numbly in the center of her room. She had no idea how she had gotten here, had only the foggiest memory of James quietly but insistently urging her forward, his fierce glare keeping away any interference. She knew they were all watching her closely. She thought she had gotten used to the stares over the years, but never before had she felt so exposed. She kept her back ramrod straight, her composure barely in check, her breathing ragged now that she had reached the relative safety of her room.

For the second time that day, James felt helpless. He didn't know what to do, what he could say, if he should even bother to try. He sensed a slight tremor course through her body. He moved forward to reach out to her with hesitant steps. "Commander…"

She turned around before he could finish and pinned him with a venomous glare. "You're not supposed to call me that anymore, Lieutenant!"

Her pent-up anger only served to fuel his own frustration, but he wasn't leaving her until she found some sort of release. She'd go crazy if she kept all this bottled up for long, he had learned that lesson the hard way. He tried again. "Commander…"

She advanced on him, fury emanating from her in waves, and he felt the curious sensation of static charging the air around them. He glanced down, distracted by the raised hairs on his arms, and when he looked up again she was standing before him. He stared at her, the bright jade of her eyes darkened to a deep emerald. He read anger on the surface, but underneath he saw the hurt and the pain and the betrayal she felt. His eyes darted to a movement behind her, and he saw the desk and chair hovering around a ball of singularity in the center of the room.

When he moved his eyes back to her face he noticed the glow of biotic sheen across her skin. In that moment, trapped by the fury and bruised pride reflected in her shining eyes, he thought he had never witnessed anything so breath-taking. She was like an avenging goddess, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out his hand to trace a finger over the soft satiny curve of her shimmering cheek. He felt a slight shock on the pad of his finger, and saw her pained confusion at his touch. If she were to question him, he would have no answer to give her. He felt like he was in a trance, like someone else had control of his body. They stood there, frozen for the merest second, but it felt like an age. He swallowed, his voice nothing more than a raspy whisper. "Commander."

Her eyes narrowed to glittering slits at the mention of her former title. He winced at the loud crash of the desk and chair as they were thrown across the room, but his eyes never wavered from hers. She moved so quickly he didn't have time to react, and her fist hit his chin as she shouted her phrase from before, "You're not supposed to call me that anymore!" He staggered back against the wall, and it wasn't just surprise that moved him. She was much stronger than he had estimated. It was a relief, because he was angry too, and he wasn't interested in holding back anymore.

She advanced on him again, but he was ready for her now, and he easily ducked her furious right hook. Lowering his shoulder into her next swing, he let her hit him twice more before snaking his arm around her waist and leveraging her back against the wall. She pummeled his back in frustration but he used his hips to pin her in place before grabbing her wrists and slamming them against the wall above her head. She glared at him, furious with how easily he had subdued her, but unwilling to use her biotics with her current lack of any semblance of emotional control. She gritted her teeth as awareness of their position sent warmth sweeping through her body. "Let me go," she ground out in frustration.

He was so close he could see the soft smattering of freckles across her delicate nose. He didn't trust himself to speak. He simply shook his head, his nose mere inches from hers, his breathing as quick and shallow as her own. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, anything to escape his probing gaze. But closing her eyes was a mistake, as it only made her more aware of his body flush against hers and the heat that was growing between them. He shifted his position as he patiently waited for her to acknowledge him again, and the movement of his hips against hers was nearly her undoing.

She bit back a moan, and forced herself to look at him again. His gaze was intent, so close to hers that she noticed the lighter shards of color that flecked the inner brown of his iris. She noticed the stubble on his chin, the beads of sweat on his forehead. Her eyes traced the puckered scar trailing down one cheek, a harsh pointer to the swelling around his lower jaw that was a sign of the bruise to come. In that instant, her anger evaporated. She felt contrite, and the heat of shame now washed over her as she realized what she had done to this strong, proud man, who before this moment had shown her only gentleness and kindness. Feeling defeated, she slumped her shoulders and let her head fall forward between them. He relaxed his grip on her wrists, and her arms fell limply to her sides. She sighed in her misery, and let her head fall another inch, until it rested against his broad shoulder.

James sucked in his breath in momentary hesitation before wrapping his arms around her and drawing her into a comforting embrace. She curled immediately against his chest and he felt her body shiver. Her loud sniffle almost drowned out her softly spoken words. "I'm so sorry," she whispered brokenly against his chest.

His arms tightened around her, and he caressed her back with the palm of his hand while he forced himself to relax. She had done it again. In her moment of pain and betrayal, she had worried about _him_ first, had shown concern when he had deserved none. He felt humbled by her generosity of spirit, and he wondered how the world could take so much from this woman who gave everything of herself without reservation. He felt a constrictive tightness in his chest that he could not begin to fathom. If she knew what he had done, if she knew what kind of man he really was, he doubted she would care about his feelings. She'd probably wonder if he _had_ any feelings.

He had wondered it himself, in the deep dark pit of his nightmares. But the hollow ache that used to torment him was less painful now, replaced by the feelings of protective tenderness the fierce spitfire in his arms had awakened. His lips moved against the softness of her hair. "You don't have to apologize to me, you're clever enough to know I was baiting you, Commander."

She pulled back from his embrace to meet his eyes again. The anger was gone, replaced by resignation, although he could see the pain still lingering. But something else skirted across the surface, and a thoughtful frown took refuge in the planes of her face. "I'd really like you to call me Shepard, James," she urged, changing her tactics to match his stubborn refusal to cooperate.

The echo of his given name on her lips for the first time floored him, as did the plea in her eyes that accompanied her softly spoken request. She gave him a nod of encouragement with a slight smile. As she wheedled to get what she wanted from him, he knew the rumors of her powers of persuasion had not been false. He had never enjoyed being manipulated, but he was so relieved to see the return of her stubborn spirit that he would have promised her anything in that moment she tried to out-maneuver him.

"All right, Shepard," he agreed, his voice nearly unrecognizable to himself, shaken by the flood of emotions charging through him.

She straightened in satisfaction at her small victory. She gave him a wavering smile, but it faltered a bit at his next comment.

"I might forget once in a while, and you'll have to remind me. Nicely," he added with emphasis. Oh, he could play this game, and if it distracted her from the torment of the trial's conclusion, he could play it better than her. He imitated her action of lifting one eyebrow in questioning innocence and attempted to twist his manly features into his best semblance of her pleading pout.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to judge his success by the look that crossed her face. One corner of her mouth twitched as she seemed to be fighting a smile. She slapped a stern expression on her face before it could escape, placed her hands firmly on her slim hips, and opened her mouth to speak. Before she could fashion her response, he interrupted her train of thought with a frustrated expletive. Turning away from her, he added, "Today sucked. What a crapshoot."

She rewarded him with a wry smile. "I'll get over it."

"I know you will. Shepard." He wasn't just saying it. As he watched her defenses slipping back into place, her familiar calm control, he saw a glimpse of the woman who had saved Elysium, who had faced down a Reaper, who had made it back from a trip through the Omega 4, who had conquered even death itself. As emotionally harrowing as the trial was for her, he instinctively knew that no amount of stuffy political posturing could stymie her for long.

This was a woman who had confidence in everything she was, not the titles that had been given her. As he watched her graceful form settle the desk back into place, there was easy pride in every precise movement. It bothered him sometimes, how capable she was. She was so self-reliant. His male vanity let him suppose that he had helped her, but he knew she didn't really need him for anything. He tried to force the bitterness of those thoughts aside. This wasn't the time.

"Are we still on for tonight?" he heard himself ask, as he moved stiffly to the door.

She surveyed her detention room with a wistful smile. "I'll be here.


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard walked over to her bed as the door slid shut behind James. She sat down, placing her head in her hands, trying desperately to keep her frustrated thoughts at bay. She stared down at the floor between her feet, distracted for the moment at the sight of one single card lying under the corner of her heel.

She leaned down to pick it up. The Queen of Stars smirked back at her, looking supremely satisfied with herself in her regal splendor. It must have been jarred loose from the desk when she had lost her temper. She let out a deep sigh, wishing she could forget her embarrassing loss of control. As she idly rubbed her thumb over the now familiar surface of the card, she realized that she had grown quite attached to the little deck. She began mentally choosing the perfect spot for her new souvenir with her collection of models in her cabin on the Normandy, when the chilling reality set in.

Her cabin wasn't hers anymore, would likely never be hers again. She knew even now they were re-purposing the Normandy, her home, or the closest thing she had to one. Ships had always been familiar to her growing up, she'd lived more on ships than she had on solid ground, but never had she felt as familiar in a place as she had in her cabin on _that_ ship. Despite all she had fought for and suffered and lost during her stint on the Normandy, it was one of the few things in her rather nomadic life that had felt really and truly _hers_. A lump settled in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the tears she felt brimming to the surface.

The final mission through the Omega 4 had left her physically drained, and the last two weeks since her arrest had gone by in a blur. She realized that she hadn't really had time to _think_, for recent events to fully register, and in her current moment of reverie the unceasing tide of recent events came crashing against her in one overwhelming wave. It wasn't just her ship that was on her mind anymore, but her old friends, her fellow fighters, the group of people who had been willing to follow her to hell and back. If the Normandy was her home, they were her family. She wasn't yet allowed correspondence with them, but she ached for some familiar contact. She hadn't realized until they were gone how much she relied on them to keep her going.

Her thoughts drifted to James, and his reassuring presence by her side during the recent weeks. She smiled at the memories of how often he had made her laugh with one of his widely inappropriate, but usually incredibly shrewd observations. He had bolstered her spirits, and she felt a deep kinship with the man. The thought struck her as odd, since she really didn't know that much about him. But she felt, on instinct alone, that he of anyone might understand what she had gone through, that perhaps he had suffered the same torment, and that he used his flippant, irreverent humor as a shield. They had certainly shared many conversations, but she had always kept a part of herself from him, and she had the distinct impression that he had done the same to her. She found herself looking forward to spending the evening with him, perhaps getting to know him better. She passed the next few hours trying to set aside her miserable musings by tidying up the room and getting her few personal possessions in order.

* * *

><p>Shepard had just finished maneuvering her kitchenette table away from the wall so they would have a place to play, when she heard James' request to enter. She called out her assent, and tossed him a wide smile in greeting. She felt it falter when her eyes fell to the developing bruise on his jaw.<p>

James noticed the direction of her gaze and saw the immediate contrition in her face, but he held up a warning hand as she was about to speak. "I hear 'sorry' come out of those hot lips, you'll hear 'commander' from mine."

"Your hot lips?" she teased back at him, her spirits higher already.

"Damn straight" he responded, quirking a brow. Settling himself across from her, he blew her a lazy kiss as he lounged indolently in his chair. She laughed to herself at his complete lack of deference. Yet she couldn't bring herself to chide him. She was too amazed at how easily he could cheer her, make her forget her problems with nothing but a teasing smile or off-color comment. He set a wooden box on the table, distracting her attention, and he shoved it in her direction until it settled directly in front of her with a scraping thud.

She opened it cautiously, tearing her eyes away from his lingering smile, and inside she found neat and even stacks of casino-style poker chips. She looked up at him, and he immediately answered the unspoken question in her face. "Figured after today we should stick with the standard stakes. No need to stress ourselves with talkin.' You know we got better things to do with our hot lips."

He just couldn't get over how much he loved seeing shock on her face. It was such a contrast to the masked control that she wore for everyone else. He might have missed it himself, if he hadn't been looking for it. It flickered on her features for the barest of seconds before laughter bubbled up to replace it, as her eyes dropped to the bottle of liquor he was waving in front of his face like a flag.

She jumped up to grab two tumblers from her kitchenette, pouring them each a healthy sampling. She handed him his glass as he finished dividing the chips, and took the seat across from him at the table. James drew a deck from his pocket, and his clever hands shuffled with practiced fingers. She marveled with fascination as the cards seemed to have a life of their own, and he dealt out two neat little piles with deft precision.

The rounds passed by in easy conversation, as Shepard concentrated on answering his questions about her training as an N7 and trying to maintain her rookie charade. She threw a few games on purpose, but her sense of competitiveness was her own worst enemy. She found herself gaining ground quickly.

Her string of success was interrupted in their most recent round as he lay down his hand with a satisfied smirk. She frowned down at the three pair winking back at her from the surface of his side of the table. They seemed to taunt her in her moment of defeat, as they easily beat her own miserable hand, which she proceeded to throw on the table with a snort of disgust. "Is that what you call warming me up?" she asked, leaning forward to stare openly at him, her chin resting on her hand.

James chuckled to himself at her sly question. He had expected her to play the way he imagined her to fight, with ruthless efficiency, but instead she was reckless and impulsive. Her untidy, haphazard pile of chips was a direct and vivid contrast to his neat and even stacks. Despite this, he had to admit that her talent was evident, as he observed her balance playing to win and playing to lose with a practiced eye. He thought the way she shuffled the deck with clumsy fingers was a beguiling touch, although he was surprised she hadn't batted her lashes and asked him to deal for her as the ultimate icing on the cake. He tried to hide his smile at the image of Shepard playing the coy, helpless coquette. It simply didn't fit what he knew of her character.

"That what you call bein' a rookie?" he countered instead, his warm gaze passing from her face to the recently increasing pile of chips at her left elbow.

She bit her lip as she looked down to hide her smile. Perhaps she _had_ been a bit too aggressive, she would have to pull back a bit. She glanced up under the veil of her lashes. "I got lucky."

He snorted in disagreement, vehemently shaking his head. He stared her down, a knowing look in his observant, appreciative gaze.

She was about to murmur a defensive comment back, when the force of realization struck her. He _knew_. She froze in place. He had known even before he had dealt that first hand! How could he read her so easily? If it had been any other situation, any other man, she would have been horrified, furious that her defenses had been breached without her awareness. But somehow she wasn't upset, which surprised her most of all. As she continued meeting his gaze, all she could feel was the pleasurable heat of awareness pooling low in her belly to join the warmth from the drink she'd been nursing. She tried to shake off the lusty direction of her thoughts as her sense of competitiveness won her over. She hated losing, and she knew she would have to re-formulate her tactics. Focusing on his gaze tracing her every movement and the insistent heat tingling through her body, her mind honed in on her next plan of attack.

Her naturally thick, sooty lashes were the perfect frame for the smoldering look she sent him from across the table as she leisurely dealt his cards towards him, this time with an expert flick of her wrist, each one landing in a neat and perfect pile directly in front of him.

He noted her change in technique instantly, though his eyes never wavered from her sultry stare. She was aware now that he was on to her game, and she was trying to distract him with this new one. He wondered if she realized how dangerous it was. His mouth curved up in a feral grin. "You underestimated me, Shepard," he growled.

She nodded in agreement.

"You sure you wanna do that again?" he questioned, his voice deepening in warning.

In answer, she slowly ran the tip of her finger along the rim of her cup, before she brought it up to her mouth and tipped her chin back to empty its contents. Her tongue darted out to slowly lick the small drop that had escaped on her full, lower lip, her gaze moving only briefly to dart down to his mouth before moving back up to clash with his. She saw his eyes widen, and he stiffened in his chair at the bolt of desire he felt at her intentionally seductive motion. "Lola," he muttered to himself, letting his breath out slowly, nothing more than a hushed whisper of sound.

"What was that?" she questioned in curiosity.

"I fold," he responded, his tone much more forceful than before.

"You didn't even look at your cards," she pointed out, thinking to herself that that was not what he had said, but she was too distracted by the direction of the conversation to press the issue.

"Don't wanna look at my cards," he responded, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You don't want to play?"

"That's not what I said," her purred in response. And in that instant, the tables were turned. It was in the way his mouth softened just so, as his eyes darkened and roved over every exposed inch of her. He leisurely made his way from her eyes, to her mouth, down the graceful line of her neck, and lower. She felt her breasts grow heavy under his hooded gaze, and the rough feel of her shirt against her now sensitive nipples was exquisite torture. Her breathing grew quick and shallow as she felt the desire she had tried to repress come snapping back with a delicious vengeance. It was as if he was making love to her with his eyes, and every place he looked, felt to her like a touch. He slowly worked his gaze back up to meet with hers. She felt trapped in the raw hunger she saw reflected there, as if she was rooted to her chair and unable to move.

"You gonna deal again, Shepard?"

His words cut though the haze of her desire, and she looked down at the cards in front of her. She attempted to shuffle them, but her once nimble fingers were clumsy, and it wasn't faked this time. As she tried in vain to gain control of her breathing and her haphazard thoughts, she realized suddenly that she _had_ underestimated him again. She paused in her fumbling to look up at him with frank admiration, a soft smile of genuine affection teasing the corners of her mouth.

"I can't." She shook her head, still trapped in the languor of his gaze. "You deal for me," she added, as she passed to cards across the table.

At her seemingly innocuous response, he burst out laughing. "Really, Shepard, _that's_ where you're gonna go?"

He continued to laugh at her plaintive request, and she swore she heard something close to "coquette commander" escape his lips in a wheezing snort. She wondered in confusion how he could find so much humor in the situation, while she was sitting across from him, burning with need, not a thought in her head beyond how very much she would like to crawl across the expanse of the table and curl in his lap. She clenched her fists in her own lap as she fought to re-gain her infamous self-control, and a soft beep from his omni-tool distracted her efforts.

A frown replaced the warm humor that had been in his face, as he leaned forward to check a message flagged with importance. "My meeting with Anderson has been moved up," he said, confusion creasing his brow. He leaned back in his chair. "It's about…" he interrupted himself, stiffening. He couldn't tell her what it was about, as she didn't have the necessary clearance. He fisted his palm on the table, angry at how close he had been to breaking some very serious rules. This wasn't a date, or cards with his comrades, he forced himself to remember. This was a prisoner, and he was her guard.

He stood up, schooling his features into an impassive mask. "I should go, actually," he muttered. "We both have meetings with Anderson in the morning," he finished lamely. He knew he was being curt, but his emotions were a train-wreck, and it was difficult for him to remain impassive. He somehow knew that if he didn't leave now, he wouldn't be able to make that choice again.

Their gazes held for an endless moment, and he tried to ignore the hurt he thought he saw in her eyes, lingering with her desire. "Thanks for the game, Shepard," he added, moving with large strides to the door before the increasing force of his desire changed his mind. As soon as the door closed behind him, he collapsed against it with a guttural sigh. Leaving her with that smoky, pained look in her eyes was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

His thoughts flickered back to the haunting sadness he had seen in them as he first entered the room. He had no doubt she thought it was safely hidden behind the mask of her smile, but it was as clear to him as if she had said it out loud. He sighed again. She had been hurt and taken advantage of enough recently, and he'd be damned if he was going to add to it, not if he could help it. He'd broken enough rules in his unruly youth, and he wasn't about to break this one, not with so much at stake. He was supposed to be _protecting_ her, he reminded himself adamantly.

On the other side of the door, Shepard got up slowly and moving to her bed. She collapsed with a deep sigh, dizzy with desire and the liquor flowing through her. She knew the lieutenant had made the right call, and she was amazed at how she could have been so close to wanting to break regulations. _Again_, she reminded herself. Her rational, analytical understanding of that moment did not help to keep her desire at bay. Dangerous thoughts and memories of standing in his warm embrace kept her awake deep into the night, until she fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

"These missions into Batarian space are going to be grueling. Most of the other soldiers deployed with my team have either already earned their N7 designation, or are completing the higher grades of training. But we _need_ more good soldiers, especially ones with practical experience in the field, not to mention soldiers who know the meaning of sacrifice. It's getting nasty out here, Admiral. The Batarians are furious. The things I've seen on our colonies…" his sentence drifted off unfinished, though his meaning was clear.

Admiral Anderson listened intently to the N7 squad leader on his comm. He wasn't being told anything he hadn't already suspected regarding the coming fallout with the Batarians. He'd seen enough in his decorated Alliance career to recognize when things were about to get ugly.

"I've looked over your list of potential recruits," the squad leader added, interrupting his thoughts. "I noticed you're recommending Vega." There was a slight pause. "Do you think he's ready?"

"Do you think you need him?" Anderson countered, taking a moment to consider all possible options. He was somewhat reluctant to send the Lieutenant, despite knowing that he had the best set of skills to get the job done.

"My units are spread too thin as it is. This shitstorm is just starting, and it's going to get a lot worse. We've already bled the ICT program for the best operatives they've got. I know it's standard for potential recruits to earn their N1 designation during courses at the Academy, but I think this would be a good opportunity to test outside of those limits. Lieutenant Vega has extensive combat experience. He gets results. He's effective, and ruthless. He can make the tough decisions. And he's a survivor. We need those kinds of soldiers out here."

In that moment, Anderson made his decision. "His leadership abilities were strained during the incident on Fehl. But he's still one of the best soldiers we've got. I hand picked him to guard Shepard myself." He spoke that last bit of information as if nothing else could be a higher indication of capability and talent.

"How soon can he be ready?"

"This afternoon," responded Anderson curtly. "We have a meeting soon. I'll brief him and send him out as soon as he arrives."

* * *

><p>Shepard woke up uncomfortable and sweaty after her restless night of sleep. Swinging her long legs over the side of the bed, she moved with unconscious grace across the room to find refuge in a drink of water. She leaned against the counter, surveying the unfinished game of cards still spread on her table with bemusement. Her eyes were drawn to the collared, military shirt hanging over the back of one chair. She smiled to herself as she remembered the moment James had stood up to remove it during their game, how her eyes had roved appreciatively over his muscular form in the tight, white tee that was revealed underneath.<p>

Her cheeks heated at the memory. That shirt left _nothing_ to the imagination, and she wondered if he had any idea how the sight of his chest had affected her. She closed her eyes and thought again about how much she had wanted to run her hands over him, to tickle her fingers over each defined muscle. In an unconscious reflection of her wayward thoughts, she traced a finger over the collar of the shirt, before picking it up with tender hands. She was about to fold it and set it at her desk for him to pick up later, when something fell out of the front pocket and tumbled slowly through the air, drifting to land at her feet.

She bent down to pick it up, thinking it was one of the cards from their game last night, but a haunting familiarity made her pause. This card was old, unlike the crisp and glossy cards they had used the night before. She flipped it over in her hand. Confusion furrowed her brow at the instant feeling of kindred recognition in seeing that she held the Ace of Stars.

She moved with uncertain strides to stand beside her desk. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she tried to place where she had seen the card before. Her eyes were drawn to the small pile of cards tucked in the corner of her desk. It contained the suit with the missing card that she didn't use for Solitaire, but had set aside separately from the rest of the deck. She grabbed the pile and smoothed the cards across the desk in a line, her eyes calculating with instant accuracy which card had been missing.

Awareness hit her, and a knot of something she wasn't ready to name tightened in her throat. This had been _his_ deck, his cards that had given her comfort these past weeks. Why had he not just told her? A thousand unanswered questions fluttered across her mind. She felt herself sliding down into the chair as feelings of tenderness warmed her from within. Even when he had not been directly at her side, he had found a way to comfort her.

She realized now how important he had become to her, this strong marine she really barely knew. The thought scared her, and she found herself finding refuge in her usual honest and rational self. With everything going on, she tried to convince herself that this wasn't the best time for these feelings welling up in her, not to mention the delicacy of their particular arrangement. She was technically a prisoner, when you got right down to it.

Her thoughts were immediately seized by the delicious implications of that scenario. She snapped her head down to her hands and tried to block out the overwhelming, heady thoughts. She was _not_ going to let herself start thinking about James and the bed behind her and handcuffs.

She thought about it anyway. What was _wrong_ with her? She was Commander Shepard, or she had been, and everyone knew her rigid self-control was her defining feature. Did she lose it when she lost her coveted title? Why couldn't she seem to keep her naughty mind from analyzing, in delicious detail, each of his particular assets? It might have helped if he didn't have quite so _many_ of them. She flushed again at the memory of his chest in that shirt. It was _indecent_. Her hand formed a fist on the surface of the desk. He should _not_ be allowed to waltz around like that, with any woman able to see him and be as affected as her.

She stiffened in her chair at the jealous direction of her thoughts. Was this really going to be her argument? A marine couldn't wear a standard issue military shirt because he looked so good in it that a silly prisoner couldn't keep herself in line? She snorted to herself, and leaned back in her chair, trying to force herself to relax. It had been a long time, she begrudgingly admitted to herself. She was embarrassed to admit it, of course, but it didn't make it any less true. She was desperately horny, that had to be it, a perfectly reasonable explanation for her increasingly obsessive thoughts. She stopped herself. Was her sexual desire even the whole issue here? She liked him, she admitted. He made her feel good, and safe, and, as silly as it seemed, like a woman. She hadn't felt like this since…She paused as the realization struck. Not since Kaidan. Kaidan was the last time she felt this connected to a man. Attracted. Comforted. She snorted to herself. Look how great that turned out. She thought she was over that damn meeting on Horizon, but as the bitterness of the memory washed over her, she knew it wasn't completely true.

She felt panic constricting her chest. She wasn't ready to risk opening herself up to that kind of pain again. It was a weakness, she tried to tell herself, and it was the last kind of entanglement she needed right now. She had worked so hard to build up her walls, erect surefire defenses around the remnants of her heart, the heart she had wondered was even wholly _hers_ anymore, after her time spent on that Cerberus table.

In that moment, she made her decision. She would just have to learn to control the increasingly wayward direction of her thoughts. It was lust, pure and simple, it must be. It was simpler when she thought of it only in those terms, and it seemed easier to control, somehow. She was Commander Shepard, whether anyone else thought so or not, and she was _not_ going to be controlled by her base desires.

She felt a calming satisfaction at having settled things with her recalcitrant mind, unaware that she was still clutching his lucky card to her chest. She might have re-assessed her newfound determination of how to handle her feelings if she had noticed, but the familiar whoosh of her door opening behind her startled her from her internal argument.

She turned around in joyful surprise, but it was not James her hopeful eyes encountered. Anderson stood in her doorway, looking professional and stoic in his admiral blues. She was genuinely happy to see her old friend, despite her initial surprise. Not many people had visited her in recent weeks. She tried not to think about how pathetic that sounded. "Anderson," she greeted warmly, as she pushed those thoughts aside.

"Shepard, it's good to see you. I know we were planning to meet later this morning, but I have some new information for you. How are you?" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Been better. I guess I shouldn't complain about some unlimited R & R, but, well, you know me better than that."

He gave her an understanding smile. "I know the feeling, Shepard. It's how I felt when you recommended me for the council seat. It's your turn now." His words were teasing, and she knew he had no hard feelings about his brief stint on the council.

She laughed at the memory. It seemed so long ago. "I thought you'd make a perfect diplomat. Still do. Plus I was a bit angry at Udina at the time."

He gazed at his favorite protégé with affection, as he, too, chuckled. "I can't say I blame you. But we're soldiers, Shepard. You know how we are."

She rolled her eyes in agreement. "I do now."

"I wanted to give you some reports to analyze," he stated abruptly, changing the course of the conversation. "You're safe enough from any immediate Batarian retribution here, so we'll be giving you more freedom to roam, so to speak, while you're in the detention center. I figured you might want to settle in a bit more for the long haul, bring some of your things. Let me know what you might need. Also, you'll have a change of shift in guards from here on out."

"What about James?" she heard herself ask, in an unthinking, unguarded moment. She mentally kicked herself.

He looked at her for a long moment. "Lieutenant Vega?" he asked. She bit her lip as she noticed his sharp and observant gaze flickering to the table at her side and honing in on the two glasses sitting in proud prominence on either end.

She couldn't stop herself from shooting the cups a baleful glare for daring to betray her. Anderson was her mentor, one of the only ones who had consistently believed her warnings about the Reapers, who had put his full and complete trust in her. If anyone really knew her, cared for her here at this Alliance facility, it was this man. He was almost like a father to her, and as he studied her with a knowing, thoughtful gaze, she had to resist the urge to squirm like a wayward child.

"He has been given a new assignment," he informed her, cautiously observing her reaction with eyes that missed nothing. "I can't give you any more information than that, I'm sorry, Shepard."

She stiffened at his pronouncement, and she was surprised at how much it affected her. She knew it wasn't just the loss of James, but also the loss of the privileges that her previous status had afforded her. It was almost too much. With her her home dismantled, her friends out of contact, without even the stressful familiarity of her job to keep her busy, she felt miserable. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to look impassive in a vain attempt to hide her emotional upheaval. She moved closer to Anderson to take the reports that he was holding, hoping to distract herself with work.

Anderson leaned against the door-frame. "I'm stationed here for a bit, if you need to talk," he said, keeping his eyes on her. She nodded in silent appreciation, but Anderson noticed the slight slump of her shoulders. He knew the one thing he could do for her was to keep her focused, her agile mind occupied, and as he said his goodbyes he was already busy mentally assessing all available opportunities.

As for Shepard, she threw herself into her work that day, and each day after that until she was stuck in the monotonous routine of it all. During the day, she was her busy, focused, and above all, rational self. But at night, when she slept, she often found herself dreaming her solder. And in each dream he now had a familiar, haunting face.


	7. Chapter 7

Shepard stood at the window in her room, gazing out at a young boy playing with his toys on the roof-garden across from her building. She had seen him before, his youthful exuberance and zest for life had comforted her in a small way throughout the slowly passing months, although not much could completely shake her sense of boredom and frustration. Desk work and reports were not her usual fare, and her inherent sense of adventure longed for something dangerous, something that could push her limits, get her adrenaline pumping, _anything_ to get her mind off of the current reality of her lethargic life.

She was especially frustrated with her continued battle to convince the defense committee of the imminent threat that the Reapers presented. They listened to her with feigned interest, as if she was some sort of twisted form of freakish entertainment, but the immediate threat of the Batarians was a more pressing matter to them. She let out her breath in anger. There was always some _other_ pressing matter. She couldn't help but feel kinship with Cassandra, the famed mythological prophetess who was damned to an existence in which no one believed her oracles, despite the fact that they were always true. She shuddered at the thought of the doom and devastation that resulted from ignoring the prophetess' repeated warnings.

Her thoughts drifted from myth to reality, to the man who had first compared her situation to the ancient story. He would have had something expressive and wickedly inappropriate to say about the committee and their cyclical posturing, and she smiled to herself at the thought.

She sighed and looked back down at the data pad in her hand. She was studying it in concentration when she heard the sound of her door opening behind her. Her head jerked around in surprised confusion, as no one entered her private little sanctuary anymore without permission.

Nothing could have prepared her for the form that greeted her. The object of her recent thoughts stood before her. _James._ His name was a soft sigh on her lips, but she wasn't certain if she said it or simply thought it. The onslaught of her repressed emotions welled up in her, threatening to choke her. She moved forward to greet him, a tremulous smile wavering on her face, when he interrupted her with an impartial salute.

"Commander."

She sucked in her breath, her surprise at seeing him initially preventing the professional tone of his greeting from registering in her consciousness. "You're not supposed to call me that anymore, James," she reminded him gently, and her thoughts drifted back to the heated moment when she had won that particular agreement out of him.

She wondered if he, too, remembered, but when he responded there not so much as a hint of anything on his perfectly composed features. "Not supposed to salute you either." He barely met her eyes as he tilted his head towards the door. "We gotta go, the defense committee wants to see you."

She felt immediate discomfort as his chilly demeanor penetrated her dazed mind. He was different somehow, and unreadable. She couldn't understand why he was looking at her with such cold indifference. She thought she read a flicker of torment in his eyes, and wondered if it had to do with his recent missions. She yearned so badly to ask him, to comfort him like he had comforted her in her time of need. However, she was so unprepared for his sudden re-arrival in her life and his impassive reaction to their meeting that she couldn't quite formulate a question.

"Sounds important," she heard herself say instead, numbly, as she tossed the data pad on the bed, trying to focus instead on more immediate concerns.

He turned to leave her and walked from the room at a brisk pace. She stared after him for a brief, shocked moment. During the weeks of her trial, he had always waited patiently for her at the door, allowing her to exit first and remaining at her side during their walks to the courtroom. This time, she almost had to run to catch back up to him. Confusion fluttered through her, due partly to his cold demeanor, but increased by the flurry of activity that greeted her in the halls.

"What's goin' on?" she asked. She thought she noticed his shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice, but she couldn't read anything in his ruggedly handsome face.

"Couldn't say, just told me they need you. _Now_"

She swallowed the lump of emotion swelling in her chest at his dismissive response. She was about to question him further when she was distracted by the approach of Anderson.

"Anderson." Shepard greeted her familiar mentor with a soft, relieved smile.

"You look good, Shepard," he responded. "Maybe a little soft around the edges," he teased, giving her still trim belly a pat of affection. "How are you holdin' up since being relieved from duty?"

She traded a few pleasantries before trying to get the answers from him that she wasn't able to get from James. "What's goin on, why is everyone in such a hurry?"

"Admiral Hackett is mobilizing the fleets. I'm guessing word's headed to Alliance Command. Something big is headed our way."

She froze in response to the implication of that information, and James studied her while she debated with Anderson whether the potential threat was Reaper in origin. She had cut her hair, he observed. The soft edges now hung in short layers at chin length, a fringe of bangs tossed casually to the side. It suited her, somehow. The cut accentuated her expressive green eyes, and they seemed almost impossibly large in the gamine features of her face. She looked, somehow, younger than he remembered, even though she was older than he. He recalled standing so close to her that day the trial had ended, so close that he could see the freckles that dusted her nose. They, too, made her look younger, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile as he contemplated what mysterious twist of humorous fate had decided to bestow such a frivolously adorable feature on such a hardened, stubborn soldier of a woman.

He frowned to himself at the wayward direction of his thoughts, at his own lack of control wherever this woman was concerned. He had spent the last few months in absolute _hell_, every decision he had had to make depending on his ability to maintain precise control, a true test of his endurance and training. The missions were the toughest he'd ever been on, the decisions harder, and he was taken back repeatedly to the nightmare that was Fehl. _We're not done here. _His mind briefly flickered back to the memory of his commanding officer sneering at him whenever things had gone sour. "Stay focused, Lieutenant, we're not done here." James was haunted by the atrocities he had seen, the things they had had to do. _We're not done here. _

He had steeled himself against the pain and bitterness. He had repressed his memories and his emotions. He left himself with nothing but the dull ache of regret, his thoughts and focus each day nothing more than the will to survive, the drive to defeat. There were moments, dark moments, when he thought he hadn't even wanted that much. _We're not done here_. It was a mantra constantly echoing in his head, pushing him forward, even when he stumbled. He had eventually buried everything under the weight of his assignments. Fehl, Omega, _her_. He thought he had gotten over this. _Why_ could he not keep his thoughts in check after just five minutes with this woman? He sneered at himself. It hadn't even taken five minutes with her, he had felt himself beginning to lose his carefully crafted control at the mere mention of her name when they had sent him to retrieve her.

Didn't they have anyone else to play messenger boy? He had just returned from Batarian space that morning, as his team had been called back suddenly, likely for the same reason that had this base in such an uproar. He had been recognized in the halls by an admiral passing at a frantic pace, who had called out the order for him to collect Shepard without even a break in his brisk stride. James couldn't refuse, hadn't even really wanted to argue at the time, his mind registering the flurry of activity and the urgency with which everyone seemed to be moving.

He had spent the familiar walk to the detention center trying to reign in his emotions. When he found himself failing at that, he focused on one emotion in particular, his anger. He was furious with himself. He had plastered a cold mask on his features the moment he had reached her door. When he had first laid eyes on her gazing out the window, it took everything he had to hide the fraying edges of his rigid self-control at the sight of her. He didn't even want to admit to himself how badly he had wanted to fold her in his arms again.

James wasn't the only one trying to keep a temper in check. Shepard's sharp retort pulled him away from the dark direction of his thoughts. "Unless we're planning to talk the Reapers to death, the committee is a waste of time!"

He couldn't prevent a small smile at the hint of her temper fighting to emerge from behind the façade of her calm control. He knew how glorious she could be when she was angry. He listened to Anderson try to reassure her. "They're just scared. None of them have seen what you've seen. We've all reviewed your reports, seen the data you collected, but it's all just theory to us. You've been there, in the trenches, fighting them. _You_ know what they're capable of"

"Is that why they grounded me, took away my ship?" He forced himself not to flinch at the slight tremor in her voice. He was _not_ going to let her affect him like this anymore. He just needed to focus. _We're not done here._

As Anderson reminded her of the things she had done in an attempt to get her focused, she felt James' eyes on her. She glanced to the side and met his assessing gaze. She thought she saw something flicker in their depths before he turned from her to the window nearby. She gave her attention back to Anderson, exasperated that even now, with the Reaper invasion imminent, she was still being asked to talk in front of a committee. She sighed in resignation. "I'm just a soldier, Anderson, I'm no politician," she said, reminding him of their conversation from long ago.

"I don't need you to be either, I just need you to do whatever the hell it takes to help us stop the Reapers."

Her response was interrupted by a uniformed woman letting them know that they were expected. As they moved to enter the War Room, she was consumed with thoughts of how to spur them on to sure action. James observed the change in her, the ever capable commander emerging before his eyes to replace the woman who had gazed at him with uncertainty and hurt just a few moments before. He didn't allow himself to feel the bitterness of those thoughts for long. He was a soldier, _they_ were soldiers, and they had a job to do. He was ready to follow her lead, but he couldn't stop himself from wishing her soft words of encouragement. "Good luck in there, Shepard."

She turned around to shake his outstretched hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his lingering touch. She stared into his eyes, the urgency of the current situation waging incessant war in her head with the desire to re-connect somehow with the man across from her, the man who had haunted her thoughts since the day she had found that damn card, the card she felt resting in her pocket even now. She was about to speak when the whisper of a voice she had spent countless hours forcing herself to forget cut through her like a knife. "Shepard."

She turned around in almost horrified shock, the edge of James' hand still ghosting at her fingertips. Oh, the world had a twisted sense of humor. Her life only needed_ this _right now.

"Kaidan," she heard herself say.


	8. Chapter 8

_Blood and death. _

The sickly smell of it was everywhere, polluting the air and consuming his thoughts. Kaidan tried to drown out his feelings of horror as he moved quickly into cover at the explosion of fire and ash just in front of him. Several nasty looking creatures emerged from the smoke, shuffling through the rubble in their direction. He signaled to the younger lieutenant beside him to remain silent, as they hadn't been spotted yet, but they needed to hurry.

Kaidan focused his gaze with the swift accuracy of a soldier well accustomed to the use of a gun, lining up a shot on the nearest cannibal. Its head exploded before he could even pull the trigger. He moved his sights in a split second to the creature's hideous companion, just in time to watch its lifeless body slumping heavily towards the ground. He glanced to his left, where the lieutenant was crouched behind a chunk of broken concrete.

"Major?" James questioned at the glance, and Kaidan observed that the soldier beside him looked almost serene as he methodically loaded a new heat sink.

"Nice shot," Kaidan heard himself say, although he had the distinct and uncomfortable impression that he had been beaten somehow. The lieutenant shrugged a response, mantling over cover to continue their labyrinthine course throughout the crumbling city. Kaidan was impressed with his poise and calm control. He wondered if this whole mess had even affected Vega. The man seemed driven by some unseen force. The lieutenant had shown him nothing but curt deference, had obeyed each of his commands with instant precision, yet Kaidan still felt that he was the one pushing his own limits just to keep up with the mountain of a man.

Kaidan forced himself to concentrate on staying alive and making it to the Normandy. Unlike the Lieutenant's apparent efficient calm, it was taking everything he had to keep moving, to keep the nightmare of what was happening to Earth from overwhelming him.

Approaching their intended destination, they encountered a massive Alliance ship taking a beating from a Reaper that had landed across the bay. Kaidan felt the horror of foreboding shiver down his spine, sick at the thought of the lives about to be lost. He called out a warning moments before the deafening sound of the dreadnaught tearing apart shook the area with the force of its explosion.

Kaidan was thrown down in the flash of blinding light. His eyes burned, and the ringing in his ears drowned out the shouts of the lieutenant above him. The smell of death reached out to him again, and something else. It amazed him, how in the peak of stress and the rush of adrenaline, little images could flicker so incongruently across his mind. He wondered if the same thing happened to people just before they died.

Shepard. He could still remember the sweet smell of her hair as she had walked by him to speak to the defense committee. He had stood there, aching at her closeness, confused how she could still affect his senses, the very core of him, despite their separation. Despite her time with Cerberus, he reminded himself with a condemning sneer. He thought he had known her, but the cautious soldier in him fought an unending battle against the more emotional side of his nature, the part of him he always associated with his temperamental biotics.

He shook off his thoughts as his senses returned. They had almost reached the Normandy. If he wanted to see her again, he had to keep moving. The lieutenant extended a hand to help him up from the rubble. Kaidan thought he read animosity in Vega's eyes before the soldier turned away to continue his relentless assault on the advancing enemy, but he dismissed it. They were in a stressful situation, not the best time to judge or read into things.

* * *

><p><em>Pain and suffering. <em>

Shepard was consumed by the overwhelming tide of grief and fury at having to witness her world falling to pieces around her. During her trek with Anderson across the city, the shock and her adrenaline had honed her attention to a razor's edge. Her ability to focus, tone everything else out in the heat of battle, was her strongest weapon, had allowed her to survive and win in situations that would have swallowed lesser soldiers whole. But now that she was back on the Normandy, without Anderson, awareness came rushing back to smother her. She felt strangled, as if she were drowning in the loss of a millions, but one in particular rose to haunt her already troubled mind. She clenched her fists.

_Pale blue eyes_.

The boy had been right, she couldn't save him. So much destruction, and she could do _nothing._ She panted, trying to draw an even breath, paralyzed with remorse and anguish. She could do nothing but leave, and it was killing her. She knew it was the right call, to go to the Council and seek help for humanity. Her own harshly spoken words echoed in her head. _Without help, this war's already over. _James wasn't the only one she had to convince.

"Forget it, drop me off someplace, 'cause I'm not leaving," he snapped with almost scathing contempt, forcing her attention back to his threatening stance.

Leaving Anderson behind had stung, but James' request was crippling. She felt an explosion of rage and terror in her chest at the thought of leaving him behind on their ravaged planet. She advanced on him in her fury, but he didn't back down from her assault. She didn't stop until they were toe to toe, and she jabbed a finger into his broad, hardened chest.

"Enough. Don't you think I'd rather stay and fight? We're going to the Citadel. You want out, you can catch a ride back from there."

James wanted to fall to his knees at her feet, he'd never seen such a brilliant bluff. What a bunch of shit. He gritted his teeth, turmoil roiling within him. He didn't trust himself to respond, so he simply turned his back on her to walk away.

Kaidan could only stare in shock at the Lieutenant's reaction. Nothing in their short but intense fight through the city had even hinted at this level of emotion simmering under the surface. If Kaidan was surprised at the Lieutenant's temper, Shepard's tempestuous reaction floored him even more. He could feel the air snapping and crackling around him. He had never seen her so out of control, had never seen her look at anyone the way she looked at the lieutenant, pain and fury and something else he couldn't describe, something he couldn't even recognize straining the planes of her face. Who was this woman?

And who the hell was James Vega, to elicit such a reaction from her?

* * *

><p><em>Don't "Kaidan" me!<em>

James was furious. He sat in the shuttle as he had been ordered, as Shepard and the Major finished their fight through the Mars archives, and tried to focus his anger. Thoughts of the Reapers, the enemy, consumed him. He had gotten so good in the last few months at burying his emotions, keeping them wrapped up in the safe, cold efficiency of mission priority. But that was before his home was destroyed. He reveled in the pain now, sharper since that the initial shock was fading. He let it consume him, sat back against the seat as bitter fury washed over him in waves. But there was another force tugging insidiously on the barriers of his shattered heart.

_Don't "Kaidan" me!_ What the hell was that about? He instinctually knew, even though he didn't want to admit it. In the entrance to the Mars facility, Kaidan had spoken the words to Shepard in frustration and anger, but the familiarity underlying his tone was undeniable.

James had felt that same familiarity spark between her and Alenko even before the Reapers had attacked, in that last moment when he had had to watch her walk away from him. When Shepard had pulled herself slowly from the grasp of his hand at the mention of her name, he had felt the crisp, dry, static in the air, her biotics sizzling in unconscious reaction to her emotions hovering on the prick of a pin. He had felt like an animal in that moment, feral instincts of carnal possession rising up from within him. They had consumed him, urged him to tighten his grip on her hand instead of letting her go, to pull her behind him, to stake a primal claim that wasn't yet his to make.

He had felt in the clutches of his animal instincts since that moment, that heady, focused need to survive. The killing had felt good in the aftermath of the Reaper attack, but he was still so angry. He could feel it pumping throughout his veins, burning him with a hidden, insidious heat.

Shepard's voice interrupted his seething thoughts. "James, you read me? Cerberus has the data! Radio the Normandy, get them down here now! She's getting away!"

He punched in the co-ordinates to pick them up, her voice urging him to hurry. He could hear her desperation, despite the garbled transmission. He gritted his teeth, horrifying memories of everyone he had lost during his previous missions flashing in front of his eyes to taunt him with past failures. His own safety was the furthest thing from his cluttered, suffocated mind. The storm interfered with any response of assurance he might make, but as he closed in on their location he was gifted with the one thing that could take his mind off of the more violent storm raging in the confines of his chest.

A target.


	9. Chapter 9

Shepard felt the storm quickening inside of her as the elevator began its descent. It was difficult to find an emotion to focus on, with such a myriad of events happening in quick succession. The Reaper attack was something she knew she hadn't fully dealt with yet, wasn't sure she was ready to deal with, but Kaidan's injuries on Mars hit closer to home. Leaving his bruised, battered body in the medical ward on the Citadel bothered her in more ways than she cared to admit. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to bury her emotions yet again. They were on their way to Palaven to rescue the Turian primarch, and she needed to direct her attention to more immediate concerns.

_James._ Her temper roiled again at the thought of him, his reckless behavior back on Mars. He could have died. This was a frustration she allowed to consume her. _This_ was an emotion she could do something about. She gave herself up to it, felt it coiling around her, a refuge against the deeper anguish she had bottled up and locked inside.

Slapping on her familiar façade of cool, implacable control, she got off the elevator and marched over to James' usual spot in the Shuttle Bay. Her calm bravado faltered at the sight of his taut body straining with exertion in tight, efficient pull-ups, his muscles bunching and flexing, his even, unrelenting pace hinting at his incredible strength. She thought her heart might have stopped for a moment, she was so undeniably affected at the sight of him, but it was the sound of his soft grunts of effort that caused her mouth to go dry. She tried to swallow, clenching her fists to leave and find another outlet for her temper, but she jumped at the sound of his gruff, familiar voice. She didn't think he had even noticed her.

"You come down here for something, or are you just lookin?"

He sounded so nonchalant, like it was six months ago and he was teasing her as if they hadn't just lost their planet to sentient, age-old machines. As if he hadn't almost sacrificed his own life on their recent mission. The thought of losing him choked her, surprised her with its intensity, consuming the spark of desire under a darker, more sinister heat.

She wrapped herself in the last vestiges of self-control. The only emotion he had shown her since he had abruptly returned to her life was a brief spark of anger in a heated, difficult moment. She couldn't understand why it bothered her so much, but she desperately wanted to needle a reaction out of him, and chose for the moment to echo his casual, teasing tone.

"I did just come to chat, but I might stay for the show."

James had felt the heat of awareness tingle down his spine as soon as she had sidled up behind him. He had sensed her presence, even though she had made no sound, and he wasn't sure why he was still so intrinsically attuned to her, this woman he had tried to forget, with little success. He didn't focus on that damning thought, distracted instead by her carefully chosen words. He was unprepared for her teasing. He felt his muscles straining, and he concentrated on the pain and pushed for more. _We're not done here._

"Have to work harder than that if you want me to blush," he quipped, needling her back, a part of him desperately wanting her to lose her temper, so he would have an excuse to unleash his. The crash on Mars hadn't even chipped a dent in the fury that consumed him. He loosened his hold on the bars and dropped down in front of her. So she wanted to talk, did she? Well, he damn sure had a lot of questions about who the hell the Major was to her.

"Not sure what there is to talk about," he muttered instead, his clenched fists betraying his attempt at calm.

Maybe there _was_ a way for him to find an outlet for his temper. "Think you can talk and dance at the same time?"

Her lips curled back in a mockery of a smile as she gleaned his meaning, and she gave agreement with a flippant response, turning away from him to move towards the center of the shuttle bay.

"Okay, Lola, let's do this," he muttered under his breath, following her with an eagerness spurred on in equal parts by his anger and a curious sensation of need.

The fury of his strength gave him an initial advantage, and he managed to get a shot in on her left cheek fairly early, drawing blood with the sharp scrape of his knuckle. He felt a spark of triumph and horror shoot through him, and he almost hesitated, until the tone of their conversation took a dangerous turn.

_Fehl._

Why had he been so stupid, to bring up his former commanding officer? Shepard pressed her advantage at his hesitation and got in a few hits as he recovered. Her strength and speed still managed to surprise him, despite everything he knew about what she had accomplished. He supposed it was the contrast between her steely strength and his soft memories of their time together in the detention center. Was that really so long ago? He gritted his teeth, pushing pain and memory aside. He needed to be on guard, before he revealed anything else of importance, before he gave away another part of himself to this woman who stripped him of everything that was safe and left him feeling raw and aching.

Shepard concentrated on avoiding James' furious punches as he advanced on her, seething and clenching his jaw. He didn't like talking about Fehl, that much was obvious. She wondered to herself if she was pushing him past reason, but her reservations held no power against the potent, greedy desire fluttering in her heart for anything this fierce, compelling man would give her.

She had started this, and she steeled herself to finish it. "And the colony?"

_Agony._

For the first time since they had returned from Mars she sensed something other than anger and frustration behind the granite features of his face. He was still for a moment, glowering at her but remaining stonily silent, before finally giving his answer, a guarded, wary confession that he had chosen essential intel over the colonists.

Looking into his harsh, scarred face, she could feel the painful guilt streaming from him, tearing at her and fueling her own, worse because it was bottled up inside. He had had to make a tough choice, but she would have done the same, _had_ done the same. She told him so, and as she saw him falter at her soft empathetic confession, she pressed her ill-gained advantage.

He visibly hardened at her swift attack, and when he spoke his voice was a raw, rasping whisper. "That's what's funny. You were out saving the galaxy, destroying the collector homeworld. We never needed that intel."

Was he blaming himself, or her? She couldn't tell, and decided that the former was the more important issue to address, willing to push his buttons if it meant some sort of resolution to his guilt and regret.

And maybe her own. She didn't stop to wonder how he had become so important to her that she would seek absolution from him.

"You can't blame yourself Vega," she said, and his hesitation as he mulled over her fiercely spoken words provided the opening she was waiting for.

* * *

><p>James found himself on the floor of the shuttle bay, looking up in surprise and reluctant admiration at the amazing sight of the virago staring down at him. He was too floored at her quick assessment and understanding of his emotional needs to feel the sting of his defeat. Maybe he <em>had<em> been blaming himself, but it wasn't her job to redeem him. He didn't need fixing, not by _her_. He got up with a quick agility that belied his size, and stood staring at her, still breathing heavily from the exertion of their sparring.

His eyes fell to the jagged cut on her cheek where he had hit her, marked her. That primitive sense of possession rose in him again at the sight of it, and he wanted to claim her as his own in a different, primal way. An explosion of lust thrummed though him at the thought, melding with his latent anger. He didn't want to fight her anymore. He just _wanted_ her. He felt himself instantly hardening at the thought, readying to the point of pain.

In two strides he was on her, one impossibly strong arm around her waist, lifting her against him. He buried his other hand in the silky web of her hair, pulling her head back with a forceful tug. She felt helpless, exposed. His teeth nipped at the hollow of her throat, and at her soft moan he bit harder, the sharp pain surprising her. An ache surged though her, a wild desire unlike anything she'd ever felt.

She heard a feral growl escape his lips as he lifted his head back up until they were eye to eye. She saw none of the concern and tenderness that she remembered from so long ago. There was nothing in his eyes that she recognized anymore beyond the force of his lust. She closed her eyes and felt his hot breath on her face. A thrill of fear shot through her at this part of him she did not know, had never seen before, until he ghosted his lips across the soreness of her cheek, the tender caress of his mouth a marked contrast to the rest of his hard, unyielding form.

She whimpered at the feel of his light kiss, and his mouth was on hers to capture the sound. There was no more tenderness in this kiss, his tongue pushed deep and with a wild urgency, as if he was starved. Desire chased away the last remnants of her agony until she felt nothing else. She forgot who she was, where she was, she just gave herself up to sensation, paying no mind to the warnings in her head and the pain in her heart.

He kissed her until he felt her struggling for breath, felt his own lungs burning for air, and it forced him to tear his lips from hers. He felt her panting against him as he stared down at her. She was glorious, his soldier woman, her cheek cut from their fight, her lips bruised and swollen from the reckless onslaught of his mouth. He met her eyes with hunger in his gaze, and he could see equal desire reflected in hers. But something in her expression made him pause. Her magnificent eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated with lust, but devoid of any other connection.

Frantic with lust, but empty. _Damn_ her eyes.

He wanted her, but not like this. An awareness of where they were, who she was to him in her new role as his commanding officer, trickled down his spine, and he shifted in the dawning realization of just how far out of control he had been. What was happening to him?

He loosened his grip on her waist, felt her sliding down against him. He saw the confusion in her face, clouding the lust, and she lifted a hand to his cheek as if in a daze. He caught her wrist inches before she touched him, caressing his thumb over the swift fluttering of her pulse.

"Don't, Lola," he whispered, the silky rasp of his voice betraying the force of his desire.

He was staring so deep into her expressive eyes he knew the instant her reason returned, and with it something else, flickering, something that he knew consumed him even now, the painful flood of feeling that their lust had briefly burned away.

Shepard hung limply in his arms, letting his strength support her for the moment, her brain beginning to register the little details. The harshness of his breathing, the heat of his palm as he gently stroked her back, the rapid beat of his heart under her own trembling hand. She felt weak, and drained, and she shuddered at the overwhelming rush of sadness that came marching back to torture her. It was the worst possible time to think about Kaidan, but she had given up on trying to figure out what was wrong with her usually capable, reasonable brain these last few days.

Kaidan. She had ached for him with this same need on Horizon, but he had turned from her in distrust and condemnation. On Mars, his hurtful accusations had pricked her to her very core when she was already raw with emotion and damning herself anyway. She had endured the distrust of the one man who she thought had loved her, had endured the sneering disbelief of her own people in her decisions and actions, had endured everything she had been asked to do with equanimity, had given everything of herself to save her planet, her people, her galaxy. She had given them her life, and would give her life again even now.

She steeled herself against the heavy, burdening weight of the past. She was Commander Shepard, and she would _not_ give in to despair. She would not weep for humanity. She would _save_ them. And she would_ not_ weep for herself.

She took a deep, bracing breath and felt James' lips softly murmur something soothing but incoherent in her hair. At his soft kiss that followed, the flood of repressed emotion battered down the dam around her heart she had spent so long meticulously crafting. She knew it was coming seconds before it happened. After everything she had endured, the tender, uninhibited, undemanding concern of this one man was going to break her. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes, and she took one shattering breath, then another, trying to hold them back, but the pressure would not cease. He held her tighter, and she pressed her cheek against his chest, weeping, her tears soaking the front of his shirt.

"Shit, Shepard, stop," he whispered hoarsely, "You're killing me." At his tortured confession he felt her slight nod as she began to pull away from him, holding her breath in an attempt to control her sobbing, and he belatedly realized that she had stopped because he had asked her to, because he had mentioned his own pain.

Jesus, did this woman never take anything for herself?

He growled and pulled her back into his arms again, his hand rumpling the silk of her hair, his thumb tracing the trail of tears down one impossibly soft cheek. "Damn, Lola, I'll buy you a new shuttle."

He felt a small hiccup of laughter shake her slender form, followed by a sniffle and a calming sigh. She pulled back from him and tilted her head to look at him. As she stood in the strong security of his arms, her heart still beating madly, her mind in upheaval, she felt it now, more keenly than before.

_Life._

It pounded through her veins to the swift beat of her heart. Her world was falling apart, but she was _alive_, hadn't felt this alive since she'd been brought back from the dead. _He_ had given her that. She was alive, needed to feel this way, just as she needed to keep hope alive. She had a job to do.

And she wasn't the only one. "That stunt back on Mars was reckless. You're lucky to be alive. Maybe you don't care if you live, or die."

_But I care._

The thought came unbidden to the forefront of her mind, but she was yet unwilling to utter the words aloud. "We need you," she added.

_I need you._

She stiffened and pulled away, and this time he let her go. Even through the haze of his receding desire and anguish he could see that there was something different about her. Sorrow and remorse were still etched on her pale face, but her steely strength and confidence were returning, along with a tenuous hope, and in her eyes…he thought he saw something akin to affection as they gazed into his.

He stared, his expression unwavering, before nodding in assent. "Don't worry, Shepard, I'm not going anywhere."

She gave him a tremulous smile before turning from him, looking exhausted and muttering something about sleep, and talking again in the morning.

As he watched her walk away, he realized that he felt inexplicably better. He hadn't talked to anyone about Fehl. _Ever._ He had been too full of shame, and guilt, and anger at himself. But Shepard had looked into his eyes, his very soul, she had seen what he was and what he had done, and she hadn't turned away. In fact, she had done exactly the opposite, he thought with a satisfied smile.

_Redemption._

She had given him that. And he knew then that he would do anything for her, follow her orders without question, do whatever she demanded. She had helped him confront his demons, and it was his turn to repay the favor.

"Thanks for the dance, Lola," he whispered hoarsely to her slowly retreating form.


	10. Chapter 10

James leaned against the bar, surveying his companions scattered throughout the lower section of Purgatory. He'd heard about Commander Shepard and her unlikely crews, as had just about everyone else in the galaxy, but he'd never imagined he would get to experience it firsthand. If anyone would have told him he'd one day be sitting in a bar with a squad that included a Krogan, a Turian and an Asari, he would have thought it an introduction to some ridiculous clichéd joke.

But somehow, with Shepard, it all seemed to fit, make perfect sense. There was an almost easy camaraderie between the disparate crew members, and James noted that it was Shepard at their center, binding them all together with the unwavering force of her strong-willed conviction. She had re-gained her stride in recent weeks, and the face she gave to the outside world was the infallible, unconquerable soldier a galaxy could depend on. She was in her element now, he gathered, the stress of travel and diplomacy and the adrenaline rush of fighting putting her into a routine that was an undeniable comfort zone for her. Compared to the rapid, frantic pace of recent events, he wondered how she had managed to survive six months locked away in an Alliance detention center. It must have driven her crazy, and he fought a sudden guilty sadness at the realization that he wasn't there to support her.

He pushed his incriminating speculation aside, signaling to the bartender for another drink. He was there for her now, and that was the important thing. He shook his head at the overwhelming feelings of protectiveness she inspired in him. It may have been his duty to protect her once, but even he knew it had been more for show than anything else. This was the last soldier in the galaxy who needed protecting.

His thoughts drifted to Menae, the first time he had gotten a chance to formulate an impression of her rather formidable abilities, as he had been too numb with rage during their short fight together on Mars to focus on anything but the frenzy of his fury. She was, quite simply, more devastatingly effective and remarkably striking on the battlefield than he would have thought possible. She carried only one gun, a Tempest, which at first he thought a paltry strategy on its own, but he now realized the name of the SMG was perfect for her, and appropriately suited. She controlled the gun's notorious recoil with adept precision, and she was especially deadly at close range. His heart had stuck in this throat, the first time he had watched her wade into a herd of husks, although he had soon realized that his worry was unfounded. And then there was the scope of her biotic ability to consider. He almost gave a low whistle to himself at the thought of it. He'd been in his share of battles, had seen more than his share of good soldiers, but this was something else entirely. He almost felt sorry for the husks, but they died too quickly at her hands for pity to take hold.

On Sur'Kesh he'd gotten his first taste of her shrewd judgment. She was a cunning tactician, throwing out quick, competent orders for positioning with an almost instant recognition of what strategy would work most effectively. Vakarian was accustomed to her style, often anticipating orders before they had been given, but her leadership was so compelling and forceful that even he had started to feel attuned to her methods and demands. He could understand now how easily battle-hardened races such as the Turians and Krogans put such unswerving faith in her, as her abilities were stunning. _She_ was stunning.

It wasn't just her skills in the heat of battle that inspired such loyalty and trust. His eyes flickered to her now. She had arrived a few minutes ago, looking tense and upset and desperately trying to hide it. He knew she had been visiting Major Alenko in the hospital ward, and he pushed back the incessant flare of jealousy at the thought. He tried to focus on Shepard instead, watching her move with natural grace among her old comrades, taking her comfort in fixing their needs, listening, offering encouragement and advice. She really was a good talker, he thought with an admiring smile, remembering the defining moment when they had first met. She seemed to have an instinctual knowledge of when it was best to back down, and when to press advantage, who needed soft words and who needed a more forceful, stubborn touch.

And who needed teasing, he thought with an inward smile, as she especially seemed to reserve this approach for him.

His thoughts flickered back to the morning after their fight in the shuttle bay. She had approached him with her usual confident and decisive stride, but as she closed in on him he had noticed a furrow of concerned hesitation on her brow. Taking immediate pity on her, he had launched unceremoniously into his carefully crafted speech, worrying that the practiced words might tumble out of his head before he could say them all. He had spent most of the previous sleepless night trying in vain to stamp out his lingering desire, and mentally chastising himself for losing control so completely with his now commanding officer. He had been determined to prove himself a better man and worthy soldier come morning.

He had apologized for his lack of discipline, trying not to flush as he recalled the intimate details, assuring her in no uncertain terms that he would not lose control like that again. He could have sworn she had looked crestfallen for the barest of seconds, but he soldiered on with earnest conviction. He avowed new-found confidence in the importance of their mission, even though he desperately wanted to go back to Earth, and he assured her that he trusted her and would follow without further hesitation or argument.

She had looked solemn and serious throughout his speech. He had prepared himself for repercussions, but she hadn't judged, or passed blame. She had smiled and nodded as if she had steadfast trust in his promise and ability, teasingly adding the caveat that he not crash any more shuttles.

The fact that she had such faith in him, could still tease him in almost effortless accord, was so damn freeing he had felt like a horrible weight had been lifted from the broken fragments of his calloused heart.

Which was his only rational explanation for why he had punctuated the conviction of his practiced and appropriately humble apology by calling her Lola, an improvised addition that had _not _been part of his original rehearsal.

At that, her brow had puckered as she finally confronted him about the nickname with a curious smile.

A telltale flush had crept around the back of her neck at his bold declaration that Lola had been his best friend's hot and sexy older sister. He couldn't resist teasing her about it, since she had asked, and he found that the sight of her blush had fascinated him enough to tease her yet again.

"You shouldn't have cut your hair, Lola. With a tell like that, you better wear a scarf if you wanna play poker with me again."

"I don't have tells," she had glibly denied, her steely, defiant gaze daring him to contradict.

Not that anyone else could see. The thought had buzzed through his brain and he had just barely stopped himself from saying it, although what he hadn't been able to stop was the overly satisfied smirk at his secret realization. His uncle's advice had echoed through his mind in that moment. You know a man's tell, you don't say a fucking word. It was good advice, to keep your advantage secret, and he felt he needed any sort of advantage he could get with this woman. Her next blithely offered comment had proven him right.

"Fine, Lola it is. I'll let you keep the nickname. But only cause you're cute."

He had felt a blush of heat dancing around his own cheeks at her bold confession, and her beautiful, sparkling eyes had missed nothing. "I see I'm not the only one with a tell, Lieutenant," she had leaned in to whisper, a triumphant smile on her face.

It had been like an addictive, distracting game for her, ever since that moment, to try to make him blush, as if in some sort of punishment for daring to read her so easily. And despite his promises to himself to maintain a more professional distance, he couldn't seem to resist joining in on her game with abandon.

His thoughts were forced back to the present, as she had noticed him watching her with hooded eyes. Shooting him a mischievous smile, she sauntered over to stand between him and Cortez, where the two had been nursing drinks at the bar.

"Lola," he greeted in an even tone, clenching his fingers around his drink in an attempt to stymie his almost immediate need to touch her.

Cortez looked up from his drink at the sound of James' chosen nickname for their commander, and with a calculating smile, he interjected his own teasing suggestion. "You know, Shepard, at some point we really need to revive some of the names James used to be called back in the day."

James watched as her neck almost snapped, so fast did she fixate her attention on Cortez. "He had nicknames?" she asked in greedy anticipation.

He was going to kill Cortez. The last thing Shepard needed was more ammo. He glared at the man while Shepard's head was still turned away, and gave him a curt shake of his head to signal his displeasure.

"Oh yeah, we used to call him 'Ace,'" Cortez said, ignoring James' warning and shrugging to indicate that he was not impressed with his male posturing.

"Why, because he was the best?" She turned towards him again, her face lighting up as if in understanding and recognition. James quirked a brow at her automatic faith in his abilities, beginning to smile, despite Cortez' barely stifled snort at her false interpretation.

"No, because his dumb head is so pointy," Cortez explained, gesturing to the lieutenant's hair while referencing the ace's pseudonym, "good ole Sharp Top, you know, shaped like an ace?"

He saw Cortez at the edge of his vision trying to make the shape with cupped palms and steepled fingers, but he was too distracted at the sound of Shepard's soft giggle to pay him much attention. He stared in abject fascination. Had he ever heard such a sound from her?

Her laughing expression sobered as he continued to gaze at her. "You don't like my hair, Lola?" he asked softly.

She studied him intently for a moment before giving her answer. "I like it fine. It suits you," she said, smiling broadly to emphasize her answer, before ruining the moment by adding "Ace" with an exaggerated, saucy wink.

* * *

><p>Cortez watched the pair joke and tease. He couldn't help sometimes feeling like an outsider with these two, even though they had always made every attempt to involve him, from their conversations in the shuttle bay to their occasional stop for drinks when missions took them to the Citadel. In fact, it was Shepard herself who had encouraged him to take some much needed shore-leave, and spending time away from work did give him a small measure of peace through distraction.<p>

But despite their attempts at inclusion, there were moments when the two soldiers seemed to enter a world of their own. He doubted they even noticed, and he was pretty certain they would vehemently disavow it if they were ever confronted with the evidence, but it was pretty obvious to him none the less. It was in the way they teased each other mercilessly, each confident in the others ability to laugh and play and not take serious offensive, a fragile, illusive commodity in their current state of war.

It was in the way their shared, knowing looks sometimes lasted too long, or the way they would lean into each other to whisper conspiratorially about nothing, their current conversation a perfect example. Seeing them from afar one might assume they were cherished lovers, sharing intimate details in hushed whispers, however the snippets he'd paid attention to indicated that they were currently chatting on the topic of the problematic nature of fitting mohawks and hair buns into helmets.

He sighed on a choked laugh. He slightly envied them their closeness, their shared, almost intuitive rapport. There was something else, a thing the two of them would also ardently deny, something indicated by the occasional tenseness that came over them in unguarded moments. He knew they weren't lovers, but he had the distinct impression they wanted to be. They were very careful never to touch each other, despite their invisible emotional connection, and he doubted a lack of interest could inspire such meticulous and conscious concern. Even now, as they were debating the merits of various Alliance-issued headgear in hushed, laughing whispers, they were close, but not touching.

He remembered what it was like to share a bond of trust and companionship with someone. He knew Shepard had complete and utter faith in Vega, she had taken him with her on every mission, although he noted that during their shuttle rides the pair were the perfect picture of severity and professionalism. He missed being able to rely on someone so absolutely. He stared into his glass, about to drown himself again in guilty feelings of loss and failure, when Shepard elbowed him out of his reverie, asking him with a laughing smile whether he had ever had a bun or a mohawk.

As he gazed into her knowing, concerned eyes, he pulled himself from the solemn direction of his musing. He had never had a commanding officer become such a supportive friend and confidant, but it seemed to be so natural for her, to have a vested and sincere concern for her crew. Of everything she was known for, he supposed he admired her most for this endearing, heartfelt trait.

He was about to answer her bantering question when James interrupted, remarking with sarcasm that Esteban didn't have to worry about helmets since he always stayed in the shuttle, and as Cortez smothered a laugh he mentally added Vega to his list of companions he was happy to number as friend.


	11. Chapter 11

James sat back in his chair at the table, trying to focus on what Garrus was saying while casting surreptitious glances at Shepard through the glass of the med bay.

"Jimmy, I scavenged an upgrade on our last mission. It'll give my girl more intuitive biometric sensors. I'd install it myself, but I thought I'd let you do it. Make you feel special."

James leaned back further as she moved briefly out of his line of sight, feigning a stretch.

"Yeah, Scars, bring her down to the shuttle bay, I'll fix her up," he replied, in a half-hearted attempt to follow the course of their conversation.

Garrus continued to talk, giving him some warning about being careful with his favorite rifle, but he was too occupied with what he was seeing across the way to take offense at Garrus' teasing lack of faith in his abilities.

Was she blushing? He sat up in his chair, curiously alert. What where they talking about in there? Shepard said something to Eve, then directed her attention out through the separating glass.

Their eyes caught. Oh yes, she was definitely heating up about something. She snapped her eyes back to Eve as soon as she realized that she had been discovered looking at him.

"She'll handle easier if she senses pulse and breath rate."

He attention shot back to the observant turian. The imposing figure across from him had no eyebrows, or lips, at least not in the strictly human sense, but James was pretty good at reading other species, almost as good as he was at reading humans. He never knew why, never studied it, it just seemed to come natural to him. If Garrus did have eyebrows, he thought to himself, he could just imagine one would have been quirked in a knowing glance, with lips curled in an amused smirk to complete the teasing expression.

Was he still talking about the gun?

* * *

><p>Shepard stared at Eve with incredulous shock. She <em>must<em> have misheard the krogan's warning about taking James Vega with her to Tuchanka.

"Yes, Commander, I wouldn't be surprised if you received a few mating requests for your male when this war is over."

Shepard choked, about to respond, when she noticed that Eve's voice had ended on what almost sounded like a laugh. Shepard's ears picked up on the slight sound. The krogan shaman was actually _teasing_ her.

She looked out the window to cast a glance at the topic of their rather unexpected conversation. Green eyes clashed with brown, widened, and turned sharply away.

"He's not my male," she mumbled, fixing her gaze back on Eve's intent eyes, feeling a familiar heated flush at the possessive, hungry thoughts that raced through her brain to contradict her claim.

"Skin pink, Shepard, pulse high. Indicates…."

"You want him," Eve's matter of fact statement was softly spoken, but still managed to interrupt Mordin's rather awkward and scientific analysis of her person.

Shepard mentally cursed the fairness of her skin for betraying her yet again. She should not have decided to cut her hair. She had never had this problem before when the longer locks had ended at her shoulders. She would have to grow it out again.

Turning her attention from her hair, she began to shake her head in denial of their frank observations, but she knew it was fruitless to argue with them. Eve had strength of character and intelligence that she assumed most would consider surprising in a krogan. Shepard, on the other hand, had recognized a kindred spirit, and had liked Eve on the spot, feeling an almost instant kinship with the shaman who had been forged though loss and suffering, and who yet fought for her people and their future. Not to mention, the female krogan was shrewdly observant. In combination with Mordin, the two made a formidable pair.

She really should be used to Mordin by now. She flicked him a glance, but he had already turned back to his lab table, humming under his breath as he finished his work, seemingly oblivious to the larger implications of his statement to the human female blushing behind him.

She tried to imagine having him as part of her original crew. She snickered to herself at the thought. Kaidan in particular rose unbidden in her mind, a picture of him nervously sputtering excuses if ever confronted with one of Mordin's frank, scientific assessments. He would have been absolutely mortified. The thought, for some reason, made her feel better and eased her tension.

No, sputtering denials at these two would not work, best just to direct the conversation elsewhere. Eve caught her attention again with a questioning eye. She moved forward with a smile, eager to talk to the krogan once more before they arrived shortly on Tuchanka. The shaman had bolstered her spirits during the previous conversations they had shared. After everything Eve had suffered, she still kept hope alive, and she shared that hope with Shepard with talks of victories over past struggles.

* * *

><p>Shepard rounded the corner to the elevator and punched the button at the same time James exited the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head while he did so. His hair was wet, indicating that he had showered in the time she had spent chatting at length with Eve. She was gifted with a delicious, but too brief, peek at an abdomen that appeared to be chiseled out of stone before he settled the shirt around his waist.<p>

He looked up when he was finished to catch her staring at him. _Again._

His mouth curled up in a grin of greeting, pulling his tags out from under his shirt as he approached. A small frown puckered his face and he drew his eyes away from her as he neared.

"Everything all right, James?"

"My tags got snagged." His voice was muffled as he twisted his neck to get a better view, and when he found that he couldn't see the area where the tags had caught, high on his left shoulder, he began to tug at the chain with abandon. Shepard, worried he would tear his shirt, moved forward to help him.

She batted his hands away with a soft smile, but realized her mistake as soon as she got close to him. She felt his warmth through her clothes despite the half-foot that still stood between them. She also noticed, with almost dizzying clarity, that he had not dried completely before getting dressed. His shirt clung decadently to his chest like a second skin, highlighting the definition of his muscles and teasing her with hints of a tawny hue.

Disentangling the tags would have been a quick enough endeavor, but she found that her fingers had now grown too clumsy for even the simplest of tasks. Taking a deep breath to brace herself, she leaned in a bit closer and tried to clear her mind of the thoughts of being in his arms that assailed her.

* * *

><p>James stood quietly still, trying to remember to breathe. He felt Shepard's knuckles softly grazing his neck as she worked his tags from their snare. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and she leaned in closer to get a better look. He felt himself drawn inexorably forward, acting on instinct more than anything, his attention centered on keeping his arms at his side and not pulling her roughly against his chest.<p>

She was so close he could see the various shades of color in her glorious hair, the dark mahogany interspersed with hints of russet and burnished copper reflected in the lights of the hall. He remembered how soft it was to the touch, and he clenched his twitching fingers, but with her head and neck so achingly close, he couldn't resist taking a hesitant sniff. Something heated and spicy registered, teasing his senses with sultry notes that reminded him of cinnamon. The scent was subtle but starkly alluring, hitting him someplace deep and forbidden.

Her eyes snapped to his face as she finally disentangled the tags. "What?" she asked, a confused look on her face.

He gave his head a questioning shake, pulling himself away from her and the heady direction of his thoughts. "I didn't say anything."

"You…" She hesitated for a moment, as if she was seeking the right words. "You…growled."

"I…" He stopped himself. Had he? Uncomfortable with that line of thinking, he titled his head towards the waiting elevator.

"Thanks for saving my shirt, Shepard. I'll catch it on its way back down."

She stared at him a moment longer before moving away, looking over her shoulder to call out an order to be ready for their next mission. They would be arriving on Tuchanka soon.

He gave her a curt nod as the door closed behind her, finally releasing the breath he had been holding.

* * *

><p>Tuchanka. A dusty shell of a planet, a nurturing abode for only the most hardy of creatures. Krogan. Varren. Thresher maws. Shepard had been impressed with the stubborn survival of the krogan during her last visit when she had taken Grunt to participate in the rituals of his people. But she had seen a different, almost haunting side to this scarred planet during her most recent trip.<p>

Shepard leaned back against the side of the shuttle with a shattered sigh. Their mission had been a success in many ways. A reaper defeated. A genophage cured. Two warring species united. She stared at the two soldiers across from her. They'd done well, facing down a reaper on foot. Her eyes met theirs, and she gave them a ghost of a smile.

"Hell of a trip."

"Yeah, Shepard." Garrus agreed, meeting her gaze with piercing eyes. "Thanks to you, we might save Palaven yet."

She nodded, trying to focus on the victory as he was not so subtly encouraging her to do.

But it was hard for her to let it go. "It wasn't me. It was Mordin. He made the biggest sacrifice today."

"At least he went down in a blaze of glory."

She passed her shuttered gaze to James at his practical, heroic analysis of Mordin's death.

She sighed and was still, taking a minute with her thoughts before responding. "I'm just getting tired of seeing people die."

They finished the ride in contemplative silence. The door opened after they had docked, but Shepard barely noticed that they had arrived. While the three males in her company slowly exited, she lingered for a moment longer. Despite their success, one had been lost, one she had considered a friend, and she didn't realize how much she would miss his openly rational, overly scientific presence on her ship until she had to face his absence.

James hesitated as he departed, looking behind him to see Shepard still seated at the back of the shuttle. Her face was an inscrutable mask, but he knew she must be upset over the loss of her salarian friend. He was not sure what he should say to comfort her, thought perhaps she might prefer to be alone to collect herself, until he felt the sharp jab of Garrus' elbow at his back.

He looked over his shoulder to meet the turian's gaze. He read concern there, and knew it was for their commander.

"You did good, Jimmy. I don't think I missed a shot. She felt good."

James nodded, accepting the compliment in silence, not really in the mood to talk about snipers.

Garrus held his gaze for a moment longer, then tilted his head towards the shuttle. "I'm not leaving her in here, so unless you're going to do something about it…"

The turian trailed off, his implication clear. James sighed, rubbing a dirty hand through his sweaty hair, before nodding and re-entering the craft. He let his eyes re-adjust to the darkened interior while he thought of something to say.

"So you still wanna go down in a blaze of glory, James?" Her soft voice pulled him closer to her. Was she worried about him right now?

"I already told you, Shepard. I'm not going anywhere," he reassured her, as he moved to sit next to her.

When she didn't respond, he shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat, his heavy armor creaking in protest. He could smell the grime and sweat on his skin.

"You think maybe we can have a talk somewhere else? I'd like to get cleaned up and outta this damn suit."

"Are you trying to get me out of the shuttle or out of my armor, James?" Her voice was still soft, but it ended on a deeper, husky tone.

Okay, flirtation it was. He smiled to himself with confidence, comfortable now in his ability to pull her from her reverie. This method of distraction he could help her with.

"I'd be happy to help you get cleaned up, Lola. And prep you for your de-brief."

"Wouldn't it be a waste, if I was just going to get dirty again?" she responded, and his ears finally picked up on the dangerous, almost desperate edge to her voice.

He sat straighter, turning to get a better look at her face, surprised to find her closer than he had anticipated. She moved with silent grace, and before he could contemplate her intention, she grabbed his chestplate by the collar, separating any distance left between them with a meaningful tug, and pressed her lips to his.

The force of the kiss brought their teeth together in a painful clash. He was about to move back from her, gain some control over his rapidly degenerating thoughts, when she shifted, moving her hand up behind his neck, softening the pressure of her lips against his.

When she caressed his bottom lip with a sweeping flick of her tongue, his lips parted of their own volition, and thoughts of stopping her dissipated. She took advantage of the position of his mouth with abandon, sweeping the silky heat of her tongue inside to lay siege to the warm confines of his mouth.

As the intimate taste of her assailed his senses, he stopped being a passive participant and took command of the kiss. Putting a stop to her almost frantic aggressiveness, he altered the slant of his mouth across hers, his lips soft with invitation. He heard her moan as he gently coaxed her own lips apart, enticing her to relax and allow his tongue to slip inside of her.

He kissed her with an aching tenderness that was more demanding than aggression, stealing away her desperation and deftly converting it to a languid hunger. His tongue met hers, teased and tasted, deepening the kiss with each deliberately controlled pass of his mouth over hers.

His hands swept down of their own accord, ghosted over the hardened material of her armor, fingers moving to the seam at the edge where the chestplate tapered off under her arm. His questing fingers met resistance at the roughened weave of the material at her side.

He groaned against her mouth. "Rosenkov. Shit."

He felt her smile twitch against his lips. "Are you thinking about my armor right now?" Her voice was a husky whisper.

"It's in my way, Lola," he growled, pulling back so they were nose to nose, his narrowed gaze meeting her eyes. They were lit with the heat of desire, but a spark of amusement now lingered there to greet it.

"We have to stop kissing like this," she teased.

He wondered if she meant kissing at all, but he decided to ignore that implication. "Find a better place and I'll kiss you there."

She paused for a moment, continuing to stare deeply into his eyes. "I just might have to make time for that." The serious tone in her voice surprised him, but he was delighted at the thought that she wanted to kiss him again, and would be willing to confess it. Part of him wanted to address the significance of her admission, but he hesitated, wondering if this was a conversation that would best be saved for another time. It had been a very long day.

He stood up suddenly, before he was distracted into kissing her again, here in the shuttle bay, or even worse, blurting out something he might regret later. When she didn't immediately join him, he reached down and hauled her up next to him.

He heard her snort of protest, but he interrupted whatever remark she might have made with a deft turn of the conversation, tugging her with him as he exited the shuttle.

"Where we headin next?"

She sighed again, any immediate protests vanishing. "The Citadel. I have a few things that I need to do there. Not to mention it'd be nice to have a bit of a re-charge."

James nodded in agreement, looking forward to the stop, despite knowing that their stay would be all too brief, as usual. He had no way of knowing that rest was not what awaited them on the Citadel.


	12. Chapter 12

Shepard entered the elevator with heavy steps and stood numbly in the center of the enclosed space. She was finally alone, and she welcomed the silence that greeted her.

_Spectre status recognized. Please select a destination._

The drone of the voice barely registered in her troubled, tormented mind. She stood rooted in place, staring at the back wall, until the voice interrupted her lethargy yet again. She moved forward, intending to press the button for the docking bay, but once she neared the panel she hesitated, leaning into the wall to rest her forehead against the cool metal.

This was not how it was supposed to happen. She clenched her fists, feelings of damning guilt sweeping through her. She mentally assessed recent events in rapid succession, cataloging and picking apart each one of her judgments and actions during their rampant race through the Citadel. Was she not fast enough? Not strong enough? Did she make the wrong call?

There must be something wrong, a fault, a mistake.

Her fault. Her mistake.

_Kalihira, I ask forgiveness._

Was she praying or just remembering the words? She shook her head, drawing a ragged breath, fighting off the exhaustion, and tried to clear her mind. She needed to focus. She would figure it out so it would not happen again.

She had survived the Omega 4. That was supposed to have been the suicide mission to end all suicide missions. But they had planned, prepared, worked so damn hard and each of them had been willing to sacrifice everything. But they had all made it out alive. She had made sure of it. No one had died.

She must have been deceiving herself with her tenuous, flimsy hope. Arrogance? Yes, she had been arrogant, and naive.

_Kalihira, wash the sins from this one._

She took a deep, shuddering breath. They were dying now, too fast, and too many. She thought she had prepared herself, she knew it was not going to be easy, so she had dealt with Mordin's death the only way she knew how. She had focused on what his sacrifice had reaped. Death, for life. He had cured the genophage. He had found redemption, and he had found peace. He had _given_ peace to the Turians and the Krogans, a rare and priceless gift, a victory of its own, in these trying times.

But this was different. Wrong. Senseless. She couldn't make it make sense.

Cerberus.

She didn't know if she was more angry at herself, or them. She had never felt such fury, such desire for vengeance, wrenching her from her purpose and conviction and steering her down a dark and dangerous path.

_Kalihira, this one's heart is pure, but beset by wickedness and contention. _

She took deep, gulping breaths in an attempt to re-gain control over the stark grief of this new loss that had been piled on top of the most recent one. Her eyes burned with the strain, and she blinked rapidly, trying to soothe the relentless sting away.

Thane's final thoughts had been for her, and she was not deserving.

_Guide this one, Kalihira, and she will be a companion to you as she was to me. _

Hot, silent tears were falling down her face, unbidden and unwanted. She swiped at them angrily with the back of her arm, but more welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks, faster than she could rub them away.

* * *

><p>Kaidan stood inside the docking bay for the Normandy, waiting for Shepard to return from her Citadel business. He shifted impatiently, planning his words with meticulous care. They had spoken a few times while he was in the hospital, but Shepard had been…inscrutable. She had been polite, professional, and concerned, but she had kept her distance, and he found that it frustrated him, that he wasn't able to connect with her as easily as he remembered.<p>

He stiffened, feeling a low hum of barely repressed biotic energy. He knew it was her before the door even opened, could feel the tension seeping from her in waves, but the knowledge that she was upset didn't prepare him for the look in her eyes as he turned around to greet her.

She had been crying.

The realization shocked him to his very core. He didn't think he had ever seen her cry, hell he had almost wondered if she could. He felt distinctly uncomfortable at the sight of her vulnerability, as if someone had punched him in the gut. It was such a vivid contrast to his image of her as the Hero of the Citadel, that beacon of unwavering hope and unflappable conviction. Even after Ashley's death she had displayed that familiar steely strength, a strength which had attracted him, supported him, and healed him of his troubled, bitter past.

There was only one time where he had seen her resolve shaken, a moment he yet cherished in his memories of her. They had been grounded on the Citadel before heading to Ilos, and she had achingly demanded re-assurance from him, as if simple platitudes were all that were necessary to make things right again.

_You can't just pull out a good ole fashioned "It'll be all right," can you? _

With that memory vivid in his mind, he extended his arms as she drew near, thinking only to comfort her again, and he was surprised when she actually entered his embrace without hesitation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "Everything will be fine, Shepard, you'll figure it out."

He felt her deep sigh against his chest, bitterness seeping into her words. "Oh Kaidan. Was I so young then?"

He snorted at the thought. "Shepard, I don't think you were ever young."

He stiffened at his own implication, at his reluctance and inability to think of her as vulnerable. In his memories of her after her death, she had always been Commander Shepard, _his_ Shepard certainly, but the tough and infallible soldier none the less. Focusing on her strength had been his only way to find the path to his own. When he had heard the reports of her dealings with Cerberus, he hadn't been able to process the implications, but her relentless conviction in her purpose had not wavered even on Horizon. He had ached for her then, confronted again with her intractable courage and resolve, and he had assumed that that resolve would be enough to carry her through her missions against the Collectors.

And it had. But her success only served to highlight his own failures, and his guilty conscience pricked at him, as he began to realize the extent of his mistake. Ever since he had first met her, ever since Eden Prime, he had been blinded by her strength. She was more Commander Shepard to him than anything else. In his bitterness and grief over her death, he had forgotten to remember her as a woman, as a human, the way she had treated him.

But he was remembering now. He saw her as she was on Horizon, her green eyes bright with emotion, begging him to join her. Those beautiful, luminous eyes had dimmed in pain at his refusal, at his bitter condemnation of her traitorous choice. Bile rose up in his throat at the memory of how he had treated her, suffocating him with painful regret, and he closed his eyes.

He saw her as she was that night before Ilos, the trust and hope she had placed in him evident in her words. _Kaidan, you make me feel like I can take on the universe._ And the next time she had needed him, he had thrown his love for her in her face, and branded her a traitor. Even on Mars he hadn't been able to let his bitterness go. Scalding rage at his own blindness poured through him, his guilt torturing him in relentless waves. He took a deep breath, his practiced speech thrown to the wayside as the desire to apologize, to beg for forgiveness and find some sort of redemption, willed him to speak.

"Shepard, I…"

He was interrupted from his fervent apology at the feel of Shepard pulling from his arms when the docking bay door opened. He almost resisted letting her go, but he began to move away with reluctance, curious what sight had caused her widened eyes and stiffened back. Turning, his fingers still lingering at her side, he saw Lieutenant Vega's imposing frame casting a shadow over the enclosed, intimate space. Vega's face was unreadable, his eyes lingering for a moment too long on Shepard, but he saluted in curt deference, before brushing past them to enter the ship.

Shepard watched the lieutenant exit, her brow furrowed in concern, but when she turned her eyes back to him again, her expression was closed, and his heart dropped at the sight of it. She was wearing that inscrutable mask, unreadable, controlled, and most of all, aloof. He felt a sharp pang of sadness at the loss of her more intimate demeanor.

He made an attempt to gather his thoughts and emotions. His tender apology would have to wait. There were other important things to discuss with her now, before she left again for wherever her missions on the Normandy would take her.

When he finally he spoke again, he was relieved to hear that his voice did not seem to betray his conflicting emotions.

"I'm trying to wrap my head around what happened."

"The part where you hugged me?" There was a hint of humor in her voice, but her face was curious and wary.

He gave her a withering glance at her deflection. She was clever enough to know what he was talking about. "If I hadn't backed down first, I feel like you would have taken me out."

Her eyes widened in shock at his suggestion, the faint light of humor vanishing in an instant. She spoke with an almost angry conviction. "I trusted you, and I knew you'd come around. That's all that matters. The main thing is we stopped the coup and Cerberus is off the Citadel."

She trusted him. The thought was freeing and damning in its simple admission, another stark reminder of his inability to trust her in return. He turned away, running his hand across his forehead. "But sometimes the way a thing goes down does matter, Shepard. Later, when you have to live with yourself. Knowing that you acted with integrity. Then it matters."

She came up behind him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're talking about Udina. You think he would have come in quietly? Kaidan, he gave you no choice. You had to take the shot. You acted with integrity. I saw the whole thing."

And just like that, he felt better. He drew strength from her ability to see straight to the heart of the matter. God, how he had missed her. He turned back to her and gazed in her eyes a moment, before thanking her with simple sincerity.

Moving away, he straightened, anxious to get his next request out of the way. "Look, Shepard, there's another reason I'm here. Hackett offered me a position, but I'd turn it down in a second if there was a chance to join you on the Normandy again."

She gave him a soft smile, and her words confirmed the answer he had been desperately hoping for. "Couldn't imagine meeting the Reapers without you."

At her simple, open acceptance, offered without a hint of hesitation, he was reminded again of his own failure to treat her with the same fairness and courtesy. Aware that it was not the best time to fully address the issue, he knew he had to at least say something.

"Shepard, I need you to know that I'll never doubt you again. I've got your back."

She nodded and welcomed him aboard with candor and a forgiving smile. Her reaction was a comforting balm to his aching regret, but he still felt he hadn't fully expressed all of his misgivings. He would have to find another time, and he hoped there would be enough of it, as that precious commodity was getting rare as the war continued to unfold.


	13. Chapter 13

James paced outside the door to his commanding officer's cabin, wondering what the hell he was doing there. He knew this was not something he should confront her about. He had told himself that with each passing floor on the elevator ride up from the shuttle bay, and he repeated the advice to himself yet again, standing like a lovesick fool outside of her door. He had almost convinced himself to leave, but the memory of their kiss combined with the sight of her in another man's arms rose up to taunt him, and before he could stop himself he sought admittance with a gruff request at the comm.

He entered the room at her invitation to find her standing in the middle of her cabin. She was dressed in a loose fitting Alliance tee, and he noticed bare toes peeking out from the hem of her sweats. He was shocked out of his reverie at the sight of them, and he immediately drew his eyes up her slender form to rake over her face, noting the dark smudges of pale skin under her eyes. She looked, in that moment, like a forlorn and exhausted waif, nothing at all like the collected, efficient commander or the vibrant teasing woman he had come to know during his recent time on the Normandy. In fact, he was brought back to the brig over half a year ago, in the tense moments of their meeting when he had first seen her as a woman with sadness and the weight of the galaxy bearing down on her slim shoulders.

A woman even then he had felt tugging at the strings of his heart. He breathed in deep, cursing himself for his rash emotional decision to come up here. Maybe he needed to stop thinking of her like a woman and start remembering she was his commanding officer.

He felt like an ass. The last thing she needed right now was his bruised male ego, and over what, a hug? It didn't matter that he had the feeling there was something else there too, it didn't give him an excuse to be here. He glanced around the room, trying desperately to think of something to say, a reason for being there, when an achingly familiar sight captured his attention.

He felt himself drawn inexorably forward, familiarity slowly dawning to realization, the rushing in his ears almost drowning out Shepard calling his name in confusion.

He crossed the length of her desk and reached out a tentative hand to pluck the object from its resting place, tucked almost lovingly in the frame that housed her Star of Terra. Sweeping his thumb over the roughened card brought back a flood of memories. He had carried it with him everywhere, sentimental nonsense really, once he had joined the Alliance, a small but compelling reminder of a past almost forgotten. He had thought it lost forever.

But it hadn't been lost. She had found it, kept it. _Why _had she kept it? He turned around, achingly slow, questions fluttering through his mind too fast to grasp. He met her eyes as they flickered to the card in his hands, before rushing back up to his face. The familiar flush that he loved so much, because she seemed to reserve it solely for him, crept up around the back of her neck.

"Where did you get this?" His voice felt forced, as if he was choking, unfamiliar to his ears.

"You left it in my room." She looked like she was about to say more, but she hesitated as he moved down the stairs that separated them. He stopped at the bottom in an almost conciliatory manner, feeling her tenseness fill the space between them.

"And you kept it?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but it was a start.

"It…I…" She was wringing her hands in a gesture he would have labeled as nervousness in anyone else, but since he had never seen her display such a trait he could only stare at her hands in rapt fascination.

She seemed to notice the direction of his gaze as she swiftly straightened and put her arms at her sides. Lifting her stubborn chin, she took a deep calming breath, and her words held no further tremor of hesitation.

"Yes, I kept it. I would have kept the rest of the deck too, but there wasn't exactly time to pack that day." It was an answer, but still too many questions lingered.

"You had it with you on the day the Reapers attacked?" The incredulity with which he asked the rather obvious question caused his voice to echo louder than he intended. He mentally cursed himself. He sounded like he was attacking her, but it was hard to control his emotions when they were clamoring for some greater significance in her actions faster than his brain could process.

He swallowed, wanting desperately to talk to her, not put her on the defensive. Her eyes were wide, and almost wary. He spoke before he could stop himself or change his mind.

"It was the last thing she ever gave to me. My mom. The deck, I mean."

He looked down again at the card, unable to talk about his past and see the pity in her eyes.

"I was lost. I just…I didn't have a lot of options. Joining the Alliance was all I had. Not much in the way of family. No future. I just looked to the stars, I guess, and saw an escape. A way out. Or maybe I had it in my head that I could be somebody. Fight for something. Fighting is the only thing I've ever really been good at."

He stared intently at the card in his hands. "I was young. I had…dreams, I guess." He clenched his teeth, wishing he didn't sound so ridiculous. "Maybe I thought I could carry them with me, I don't know. Seems stupid now that I say it."

"I don't think it's stupid." She had whispered the words so softly, he almost didn't hear them.

He dared to look up at her then, and he did not see the pity in her eyes that he so feared, only compassion and a spark of warmth that gave him pause. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to cross the short expanse between them and take her in his arms.

He sighed, debating the wisdom of that course of action, his attention flickering from her eyes to the smudges of dark color underneath, signs of the exhaustion that had caught up with her. It had been a rough, emotional day, and he could sense a slight guardedness to her posture. He still had questions about her own attachment to the card, but he was not going to pressure her into admitting anything. Hell, he still needed to figure his own emotions out, before he made any more spur of the moment decisions.

But there was one thing that he had to do before leaving her for the night.

* * *

><p>He started toward her in that moment, and Shepard had never felt so emotionally exposed. She had kept the card, tucked away on her person, leaving it on her desk at night. Part of her knew it was selfish, knew she should have given it back to him, but she couldn't do it, scared that it would mean admitting something she wasn't ready to deal with. She hadn't really had much time to process her feelings, in fact most of her attention towards him had been devoted to her rather vain attempts to stem the tide of desire he aroused in her. She was shocked now to face the implications of her actions, the incessant need she felt for this compelling man, and something else, something deeper.<p>

The realization shocked her in its intensity and effect, and she involuntarily took a step back, and then another, as he continued to advance on her, until she felt the nudge of the bed at the back of her knees.

He didn't stop until he was almost on top of her, so close she would have touched him if she breathed too deeply, the barest fraction separating her chest from his.

"Shepard." His gruff voice felt achingly familiar.

She tried to control her breathing, biting her lower lip and staring fixedly at his dog tags nestled in the valley of his powerful chest.

"Lola. Look at me."

She tilted her chin up slowly, taking her time in meeting his eyes and finally holding his tender gaze. His hand moved up from his side, and she ached for him to touch her. She felt his palm grazing her breast, the softest whisper of a touch, so soft she thought she might have imagined it. She felt her eyes about to flutter close at the brief contact, until the vestiges of her melting thoughts made her realize that he was fumbling with the fold of her shirt front pocket.

He slipped the card inside, and spoke with a gruff husky whisper. "Keep it safe, Lola."

And with that, he whispered good night and turned to walk away. She stood there, aching with need. Muted by the flood of emotions she knew she needed to evaluate further, she watched him saunter from her room. Memories of his comforting presence by her side during her trial on Earth washed over her, as well as how heavily she had leaned on him since they had started serving together aboard the Normandy

Suddenly, she did not want him to leave, and although she had no idea what she was going to say, she was desperate to speak to him. Moving across the room at a swift pace that matched the beating of her heart, she called out just as the door was closing behind him.

"James! Wait!"

She saw him hesitate at her demanding, urgent tone. He turned around to face her in the small hallway separating her cabin from the elevator and gave her an expectant glance, waiting for her to speak.

"I never really thanked you, for being there for me during my trial. I mean I know that you had to be there, but…well you didn't have to try and help me. The deck, it kept me busy during a lot of sleepless nights. I'm sorry I lost it. It meant a lot to me. You…"

Dammit. Why couldn't she just say it? She hesitated, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. With painful memories of her last failed attempt at love preventing her from confessing anything that even hinted at what she suspected she already felt, she murmured instead, "What you did for me meant a lot to me."

He nodded solemnly, silent for a moment as he studied her, before a wicked smile took over his expression. "I guess you owe me, Lola."

She snorted, suppressing a smile at his swift change of demeanor from serious to light-hearted, amazed at how easy it was just to tease and be teased in return. He was just so…comfortable. "Really, James, you're gonna ruin the moment, just like that? I thought we had something goin here."

She felt a rush of warmth at the lazy, crooked grin he gave her. He shrugged, unapologetic. "A man's gotta keep score. Which reminds me, we still haven't settled our little poker challenge yet. I'm pretty sure I was ahead."

She did laugh then. "If you say so, Ace."

He gave her a wounded look. "You're not gonna be laughing when I shave my head."

She shook her own head at his blatant bluff. "Wouldn't matter."

His smile remained, but he studied her with a concerned eye as he again changed the course of their conversation. "You gonna be all right?'

"I am now." The words echoed in the little hall at the same time the elevator arrived, and he was still smiling as he turned to leave. Moving silently back into her cabin, she headed to bed, her steps lighter than they had been all day, the familiar weight of the card in her pocket a warming reminder of the reassurance of hope.


	14. Chapter 14

Shepard blinked back at James as he stared at her in astonishment, as if he was surprised to find out there was something she could not do. She suppressed a flicker of resentment at the way everyone seemed to assume her capabilities extended anywhere far beyond soldiering.

"Don't give me that look, we had this conversation back on Earth. I mean it. I can't cook anything."

It was exceedingly early in the morning, but she was restless and hungry. She had been surprised to find anyone else up at this time, other than those on shift, and when James had mentioned the desire to cook something from scratch, she had completely lost interest in the lonely processed meal shared between herself and her reports that she had planned.

"You wanna learn from a master?"

She quirked a brow. "A master?"

"Yeah well, I got some tricks up my sleeve. You think you can handle that?"

She felt a smile edging at the corners of her mouth. "I think I can handle you."

He flashed her a wicked smile before turning to check their provisions. "Let's see what we got." She found herself staring at the way his pants hugged his backside as he bent over. Realizing what she was doing, her eyes shot up just as he was turning around, cupping a handful of eggs in his hand.

"Can you also handle a little heat?"

"How hot can you make it?"

"Hot, Lola." He met her gaze for a moment longer before continuing. "We'll do omelettes, but with a kick. I'll even dig into my little stash of peppers I picked up from our last stop at the Citadel, but I have no idea where these eggs came from."

He shrugged, before moving forward to hand her one, tilting his head toward the bowl on the counter with a challenging gleam in his eye. The egg felt unfamiliar in her hand, and she tried not to feel self-conscious about her lack of culinary know-how. She cracked it on the side of the bowl with excessive force, splintering egg shells into the bowl along with the yolk.

She heard a snort behind and to her right, and when she glanced over her shoulder James was resting his head in his hand. She could tell he was trying not to laugh.

He moved to stand directly behind her, settling another egg in her palm. Her eyes watched, hypnotized, as he lightly ran the pad of his finger from her palm up the length of her forearm, getting close to the ticklish part of her inner elbow, before slowly returning to trace lazy circles on her inner wrist. She swallowed convulsively at her instant hyper-sensitivity to his touch and the feel of his lips moving so close to her ear.

"It's not a grenade. Try a little gentleness."

The heat of his mouth brushing against her hair sent a rush of warmth to replace the hunger that had been curling in her belly. She felt her breath hitch as she watched his blunt thumb moving softly against her delicate skin. Her wrist looked so small next to his large hand, and she had the uncomfortable realization that he could probably snap her bones, if they hadn't been so enhanced. He leaned forward a fraction, so she could feel the heat of his chest pressing into her back, and thoughts of her implants dissipated. He grabbed the egg from her hand and deftly cracked it open, the yolk dropping into the bowl, the shell evenly cracked in half, a delicate and jarring contrast to the latent power of his hands.

She swallowed, trying to focus on breakfast and not these scorching, heated thoughts that assailed her, thoughts of those large, powerful hands fluttering just as gently over her own sensitive flesh, stroking and teasing her until she quivered against him and begged him for more.

She bit her lip, angry at herself for getting excited over a damn egg. This man was getting to her, and his usual comforting presence was swiftly becoming an uncomfortable ache that she knew she would have to confront eventually.

She stiffened against him and he backed away, casually tossing the shells in the trash. He turned his attention back to their provisions, seemingly oblivious to the wayward direction of her riotous thoughts.

"Allright, Shepard. You can dice the jalapeños and green chiles. I'll handle the eggs from here on out."

* * *

><p>It was a masterpiece. A delicious, mouthwatering masterpiece. He was about to divvy up their breakfast onto two plates when the look on Shepard's face caught his attention. She was staring at the pan with a hungry, almost predatory gleam in her eye, her lips parted in anticipation. He felt a swift surge of jealousy at her appetite directed so openly at the food they had prepared, and a wicked streak of defiance took him over.<p>

Dumping the two servings onto one plate, he grabbed a fork and leaned casually against the counter.

Her look of patient confusion was too priceless, and he stifled a laugh. He deftly cut and speared a morsel with his fork, and savored his first bite. He just couldn't help himself, he closed his eyes and moaned. It really was delicious.

When he reopened his eyes a second later, Shepard's gaze had moved from the plate in his hands to his lips. He shifted uncomfortably against the counter at the realization that he was the new focus of her hunger. He had been pushing back the rising tide of desire he always felt in her presence, and he was usually successful, but it was exceedingly difficult when she was gazing at his mouth with this particular look on her face. It was ancient, instinctual, filled with carnal promise and he wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

Throwing a look of nonchalance on his own face, he twirled the plate in his hands and sauntered off to the table.

"Thanks for helping me with my breakfast, Shepard," he called out over his shoulder, stifling another laugh as her jaw dropped in surprise.

He heard her calling out his name as he took a seat at the table, and before he could take another bite she had sidled in next to him. She jabbed a soft elbow in his side and grabbed the fork from his hand.

"You are such a jerk, James." She said it without rancor, laughter just under the surface, and took her first bite.

"It's delicious!" Her eyes widened with delight, her mouth curving in a smile of pleasure as she finished chewing.

"Yeah, Lola." He laughed, wrestling the fork from her hands and gesturing back to the counter. "Cept this is a bring your own fork party."

She grabbed the plate and dragged it closer to her as he made an attempt at two bites in a row.

"I am not getting up just so you can eat all this in the time it takes me to get back." She was smiling as she teased him, again pulling the fork from his resisting fingers.

When she was done chewing, he re-claimed his hold on the utensil before giving her chair a forceful nudge, scooting it a good two feet to his left. He barely managed to get in a few more delicious bites before she recovered.

He felt her close to his side again, but she made no attempt to fight him. He dared a glance, and saw that she was gazing at him with an over-exaggerated pout, her eyes woefully begging.

"Nope. Not gonna work." He bit back a smile, about to savor another bite, when he heard her forlorn sigh. At the last minute, he turned, waving the food-laden fork in front of her face. She grabbed it, took the bite, and scooted in closer for another.

They ate like this until the meal was almost done, laughing and chatting, passing the fork back and forth with teasing reluctance. He felt the warmth of her at his side, and he realized that he had never shared such an intimate meal with anyone. He didn't notice it at first, since they were too busy elbowing and talking with mouths full of food for him to register that it was anything close to romantic. But they were sharing a fork and a plate and they were sitting so close over their meal that there wasn't much space left between them. Sometime during the course of their breakfast he had shifted slightly in her direction, his left arm draped lazily across the back of her chair, although she was sitting forward near the edge of the seat, her left elbow on the table.

He twirled the fork in his right hand as he gazed at what remained of their breakfast, sitting on the plate in between them. "Last bite."

She smiled at him wolfishly, but offered it to him anyway. "You can have it."

He shook his head. "Nah, it's yours." He moved his arm from the chair to her back, tugging her even closer as he shoveled up the food. He was unceremoniously tucking the last bite in her mouth, her eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter to match his own, when the sound of someone approaching the table interrupted their moment.

He looked up to see the Major staring at them with undisguised interest. Some inner part of him rebelled, refusing to give her up. He left his hand where it was, instead of pulling it away like he knew he should. He let it rest on the curve of her back, until he saw Alenko's eyes flicker down and widen at the affectionate nature of the gesture. She seemed too distracted with her chewing to put up a protest, so he gave her one last caress before pushing up from his chair, muttering something about being in the shuttle bay for a few hours before their next mission.

The Major's first words drifted across his itching ears as he waited for the elevator to arrive.

"I want to go with you down to Eden Prime."

* * *

><p>Eden Prime. Shepard ducked into cover and tried to catch her breath, trying not to compare her current state of mind with where she had been just a few hours earlier. The difference was so staggering, it was enough to make her believe in alternate realities.<p>

Running with two strong biotics wasn't the most familiar strategy from recent missions, but it did provide an adrenaline rush that fed her increasingly wild and reckless and impulsive behavior. She was on edge from her recent Prothean flashback, and being on the battlefield with Kaidan again was not helping.

"You're really pushing your biotics, Shepard. Glad you had a good breakfast."

His tone ended on a biting note and she flicked him a baleful glare. Instead of responding, she mantled over the crate in front of her, charging at the two Cerberus agents across the clearing. She heard him curse at her bold move, a mere second before the Cerberus engineer froze in cryo just as he was about to finish his turret.

She skittered to a halt a few feet from the solidified form. She could sense his fear, could see it in his eyes as she raised her weapon, and she hesitated. Liara's singularity caught the second agent, but the sounds of shooting as her squadmates finished him off were drowned out by the rushing in her ears.

The last time she'd seen cryo, Mordin had been at her side.

She tightened her grip on the trigger, feeling a burning in her lungs and the chill of an unfamiliar emotion running down her spine. Her breath came in rapid gasps as she stared at the trapped and helpless human kneeling at her vengeful feet. Her eyes flickered to the Cerberus logo emblazoned on his armor, and her thoughts shifted to Thane as waves of repressed fury washed over her. She gritted her teeth, taking almost grim satisfaction in the sight of this man suffering in front of his half-assembled turret, his lungs painfully screaming for air as the initial snap of the effect began to dissipate.

She had killed so many, she had always done what was necessary, but she had never, _ever_, taken enjoyment in the suffering of another creature, not even her enemies. When the shameful realization of what she was doing hit her, the shock of it almost sent her to her knees.

She tasted her own blood in her mouth as a burst of warp curved around her and the tortured man exploded in splintered shards.

She felt Kaidan approach from behind and grab her arm. "What the hell, Shepard?"

She gasped as he whirled her around, unable to meet his gaze, full of her own self-recriminations. She shrugged him off as she stormed into the second building Liara had indicated would hold the essential intel to pull the Prothean from stasis.

* * *

><p>Kaidan stared after her retreating form in confusion, and he traded a concerned glance with Liara.<p>

She answered his unspoken question. "I have never seen her like this."

"Eden Prime has brought back some memories," he spoke on a weary sigh, but the excuse felt lame as he tried to understand what was happening.

He clenched his teeth. It was those damn Prothean flashbacks. She had been fighting their Cerberus attackers with her usual resolve and effective control, until that first memory share. When they had found the signal, he could do nothing but watch helplessly, _again_, as Shepard was taken somewhere he could not go. She had been different afterwards, on edge, unreachable, and it had been necessary for him to push himself to the farthest extent of his ability in order to keep up with her and her increasingly reckless choices.

He was at a loss as to how to connect with her, had felt torn and uneasy ever since that morning, when he had faced the sight of Shepard at the mess table with Lieutenant Vega. They had been sitting so close she was practically in his _lap_, and he had had to fight the overwhelming urge to rip her from his arms and shout that she was _his_.

But she wasn't, not really, no matter how he still felt about her. They had grown apart, and he was reminded of the distance between them with each step they had taken on Eden Prime. She pulled from him, inward, to some distant place, and no matter how much he wanted to protect her, help her, she refused to let him close, to let him in.

He tilted his head to the door and spoke to Liara again. "See if she needs you. I'll keep an eye out here."

* * *

><p>Shepard leaned into the console in front of her. She felt Liara's reassuring presence behind her.<p>

"Shepard..."

"I know how to open the pod." She interrupted her friend, uninterested in sympathy, feeling undeserving of concern. She tried to regain her rather tenuous control. Coming back to Eden Prime had been more difficult than she had anticipated, and her connections with the Prothean flashbacks were disconcerting. The memories, the overwhelming feelings of anger and loss, were a harsh and vivid reminder of her own dangerous fury. She felt the slow burn simmering just under the surface, and she was desperate to leave this planet behind.

Her hopes for an uninterrupted end to their mission were dashed as they exited the building, but fighting more squads of Cerberus agents provided a welcome distraction to her increasing tension. She focused, pushing the strain of her emotions inside, burying them deep and hiding them under a different kind of pain.

_Throw._ To her left, now _pull_.

Caught up in wave after wave of biotic energy, she forgot about the gun at her side. She knew she was pushing the limits of Kaidan and Liara, advancing more quickly than was appropriate, but she didn't care.

One in cover, shields down. _Warp. _

The scalding fever of her overworked biotics provided a blessed release, a personal torture that she welcomed, and she found refuge under the almost overwhelming cascade of scorching energy.

Two more, ahead of her. _Shockwave. _

_Pain. _Ignore it.

Her limbs felt like they were on fire, her nerves screaming for a break from the agony, her skin itching and searing as if gnawed by the jaws of some unseen poison. The last of her enemies were rallying for one final push, and she was calculating just enough energy to defeat them when Kaidan's shout of warning pierced her senses.

"Atlas!"

* * *

><p>Kaidan watched in helpless horror as Shepard rushed ahead of them. His own formidable biotics were weak, and he could not fathom what reserve of energy she was drawing from as she threw repeated warps at the mech. He had never seen anyone push their biotics this hard without painful repercussion.<p>

He dove into cover as an explosion sent shrapnel and smoke to shutter his vision. Thinking only of Shepard, he recovered his barrier and moved forward, but there was little cover at her advanced position, and the mech was moving to fire again. He barked an order to Liara to take out the final two Cerberus agents, as he sighted an explosive container to the left of the mech's position. He screamed at Shepard to get down, not knowing if she heard him, but he couldn't wait any longer. The explosion of the overloaded container crippled the already weakened mech, and he could only watch as Shepard was blown back by the force of the blast.

He rushed forward to help her, his throat constricting in anguished panic, but she was already struggling to her feet, bloodied, bruised, her severely dented armor indicating she had likely taken a good bit of internal damage. She refused to meet his gaze for long as she muttered her thanks, and he suppressed his uncomfortable feeling of alarm at the wild and untamed look in her eyes.

She shrugged off his hand and limped forward. "Let's get that Prothean and get the hell out of here."


	15. Chapter 15

James tried not to pace in the elevator during its ascent to the third floor, as he analyzed his initial feelings of anger at being left behind. He had accompanied Shepard on almost all of their missions after the events on Mars, and he liked to think that he had proven himself a capable soldier. Even though he understood the rationale behind Shepard's choice to take Kaidan and Liara, he couldn't help the way he felt. He snorted to himself. As if reason had anything to do with it.

Yet his anger had slowly dissipated, replaced by the incessant memory of the moment their shuttle had arrived back from Eden Prime. Shepard had emerged with a bloody face and her armor had been an absolute mess. She had been partially supported by the Major as she stepped down from the shuttle, which had shocked him, but she had shrugged off his helping hand as she stormed to the elevator with what appeared to be an eerie, cleaned up version of a collector. Liara and the Major had stopped to talk outside the shuttle, but he still felt uncomfortable around the beautiful asari, and he was definitely not interested in getting chatty with Alenko, so he was left with his curiosity eating away at him for the rest of the day.

He was distracted from his thoughts when the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. The Prothean entered, his golden eyes flickering over him, widening as if in recognition before narrowing in what he thought looked like disgust.

James struggled to find something to say to the imposing figure, but the Prothean saved him the trouble by speaking first, uttering one simple word with a condemning sneer that caught him off-guard. "You."

James stared in confusion, uncertain what he had done to garner what he could only describe as animosity from their newest crew-member.

"It is you I saw."

His feelings of confusion deepened. They hadn't yet met, although he had heard a few whispered comments regarding the intimidating and enigmatic demeanor of their new guest. James, accustomed to giving the benefit of the doubt, wondered if this might be some Prothean form of greeting, so he decided to go with it, until proven otherwise.

"Yeah, uh, I'm James Vega." He would have held out his hand, but he somehow felt it would be a useless gesture.

"You are at the forefront of her mind, James Vega." The Prothean hissed his name with unhidden disdain. James could only stare in astonishment, baffled at the hostility of the situation, confused as well regarding whose mind was under discussion.

The Prothean stalked forward in his moment of hesitation, backing him into the corner, invading his personal space. James felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising in response to the close proximity. The Prothean's eyes narrowed to glittering yellow slits, and his next words were dripping with sharp venom.

"The Reapers are here, human, and this cycle is drawing to a close. Your commander has been tasked with a heavy burden. Why does she think of you when she should be focused on the enemy? I did not expect to see humans advancing this far, but I am not surprised that your minds are still so primitive."

The harsh insult echoed in the elevator as the doors opened on the third floor and the Prothean commander exited with a swift, brisk stride. The door shut behind him, but James simply stood in the center, confounded at the implications of the Prothean's words, and feeling decidedly uncomfortable with being so harshly judged and dismissed. He hit the prompt for the first floor before he could stop himself.

* * *

><p>Shepard sat slumped on her bed, ignoring the pile of datapads and reports, instead idly playing with the card James had given her. She knew the old card had seen its time, but from her recent mission the edges had curled considerably from prolonged over-exposure to the heat of her biotics. She flipped the card over and over in her fingers, and now that she was alone she forced herself to re-visit the events of Eden Prime, memories and emotions that she had been avoiding since they had returned.<p>

She sighed to herself, not wanting to admit that this war was finally getting to her, not just affecting her, but digging deep under her skin and changing her. She knew she had behaved recklessly, had endangered her own squad. Her friends. They all knew they risked their lives on some of these dangerous missions, but she had always planned and acted with a cool authority that attempted at all expense to mitigate, not enhance, that possibility.

What was _happening_ to her? She briefly wondered if Cerberus was to blame. Miranda had sworn that she was exactly the same, but she couldn't help but doubt, in the darkest parts of the night, that they might have changed her in some way. Enjoying the suffering of her enemies. Needlessly risking her crew. This wasn't her, she didn't want it to _be_ her.

Her fingers tightened around the card as she faced her worst fears. Belatedly realizing that she was denting the card even further, she dropped it on the bed in dismay, watching as it slowly fluttered to rest on a lone datapad. Putting her head in her now empty hands, her thoughts shifted to James, of his comforting presence, of his uncanny ability to cheer her and make her forget, to allow her to feel human again, even if it was just an illusion. It was so tempting to open herself up to him, to rest for a moment against the strength of his shoulders and not worry about the rest of the galaxy for once.

She closed her eyes in denial of the temptation, unwilling to burden anyone with the weight of her problems and fears, and feeling like she didn't even deserve it. Instead she fell back against the pillows, about to make an attempt to hide her reverie in the brief comforts of sleep, when she heard James' voice request to enter. It startled her, and for a moment she thought she had imagined it, until the sound at her door was repeated, and she murmured an assent as she got up from the bed.

* * *

><p>James entered her quarters to find Shepard standing in front of her bed, this time in a long-sleeved knit top and shorts. At the sight of her dishevelment he was reminded of the last time he was here, just a few days ago, and the poignant moments they had shared.<p>

He smiled as the memory relaxed him, and he moved down the stairs to stand in front of her fish tank, trying to focus on her eyes and not the expanse of her incredibly long and toned legs. "I just met the Prothean."

Her beautiful eyes widened, making it easier for him to focus his gaze, and a soft smile ghosted across her face. "He's…intense."

"Yeah, intense is a nice way to put it." He shifted and his eyes were drawn to the bruise on her cheek. "Tough mission?"

Her gaze sobered and drifted away from his. "It was…also intense."

He felt the tug of bitterness at her inability to confide in him. Now that he had suppressed his initial spark of desire, his let his gaze wander over the rest of her body, trying to be dispassionate in his survey, in spite of the thought of her legs wrapped around his waist that still flickered in the back of his mind. Her shoulders were slumped, her stubborn chin not lifted at its usual proud angle. The changes were small, subtle, likely unrecognizable to anyone else but he could tell she was upset. With her, he could always tell.

Distracted by his assessment of her, and without really thinking, he blurted out the incessant thought that had plagued him most of the day. "I wish I could've been there."

Her eyes snapped back to his, now glittering with an angry fire, as he realized his mistake. "James, don't do this. You know I…"

He held up his hand in a gesture of conciliation and interrupted her. "No, I know. That was stupid, I shouldn't have said it."

He shifted from the rail and moved to stand in front of her. "I like being there for you, Lola, but you have enough shit on your plate. I'm not going to question how you plan for missions. I didn't…" He raked a hand through his hair and he tried to think of a way to convey his meaning, but failed. "I didn't mean it that way."

He saw some of the tension leave her shoulders at his apology, and she laid a reassuring hand on his arm. "You are there for me, James."

Though her touch was innocent, he felt the heat of her skin as it pressed against his. Her fingers were calloused but the softness of her touch made him yearn for more. He looked down at her upturned face and fought the urge to put his arms around her. She stood achingly close to him, yet he felt like they were as far apart as ever, and he was again reminded of his inability to get close to her despite their past and their recent camaraderie. "I'm here right now, Lola. You wanna talk about what happened down there?"

She stared at him, mutely shaking her head, and he felt disappointment and the stirrings of angry frustration at her refusal. "_Why_ won't you talk to me?" He winced at the desperation that had threaded its way into his voice.

"I…can't." Her thick lashes veiled the vibrant green of her eyes, but he could read the quiet pleading in her voice. She was about to turn away, a ragged sigh shuddering from her lips, and he grabbed her arm before she could pull from him.

She stilled as he touched her, looking confused, and almost lost, and in that moment he was unable to deny himself from sweeping her into his arms, no longer caring about the consequences. Her eyes were now as wide as he had ever seen them, but her struggles stopped as he bent his head.

He gently feathered his lips across hers, although she held herself stiffly against him. He coaxed her to relax her guard with the insistent heat of his mouth, and when he felt her begin to yield, he traced a hot line between her lips with his tongue, urging them to part. At her soft gasp, he pressed his advantage, sweeping his tongue inside to taste her fully.

Her palms relaxed against him, giving up the attempt to push him away. A shudder of heat danced over his flesh as she allowed him to lick deeper into her mouth. Retreating briefly, he captured the fullness of her lower lip between his teeth before slanting his mouth more fiercely against hers, almost daring her to protest.

She only moaned against him, her hands smoothing over the muscled planes of his hard chest, her fingers sliding up towards his shoulders to wrap around his neck and tug him closer. Her own matching hunger sent an uncontrollable surge of lust through him. His caressing hands at her back turned demanding and possessive, fitting her body tighter to the heat of his own.

* * *

><p>She was too caught up in her own desire to offer any protest as James moved his hands from her back to slip beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers teasing the soft skin at her waist. She felt him pulling at her shirt with a gentle tugging, and she lifted her arms in compliance as he peeled it over her head. She was happy to lose herself in the heat of his touch, especially if it meant she wasn't going to be pressured into talking. She found that she had no defenses against this assault on her senses, this primal power he had over her body.<p>

His drugging kisses had pushed the events of the day far from her mind, until the stark moment she heard the hiss of his quickly indrawn breath. She stood in dazed confusion, her mind still foggy from the force of her lust, and felt him backing away from her.

She opened her eyes to find him clutching her shirt in his hands and staring at her chest in concerned shock. When she looked down she felt the self-conscious heat of embarrassment as she realized the cause of his surprise.

Her right side was almost completely covered by ugly, discolored bruises, thick streaks of purple color a clear indication of the recent trauma around her ribs. She had felt a dull ache of pain in her side since returning from their mission, but the bruises actually looked much worse than they felt, although the starkness of their dark color against the paleness of her skin was indeed an alarming sight. She heard a barely whispered curse escape his lips, and looked up from her injury to meet his gaze.

"This is what happens when you try to get too friendly with an Atlas all by your lonesome." She answered the unspoken question in his eyes, trying to sound glib and dismissive, but she had the distinct impression that the tactic would not be effective with James.

She saw his eyebrows raise towards the ceiling and knew her instincts were right. "You got too close to an Atlas?" The tone of his voice indicated surprised anger. It was not really a question.

He threw her shirt to the side and advanced on her. She instinctively backed away at the unreadable look in his eyes, but he caught her wrist, encircling it with the barest of pressure. She could have pulled away from his gentle grasp but she felt rooted to the floor, trapped by the raw emotion reflected in his eyes as he slowly pulled her arm up between them and exposed it to the light of the room.

"And what about this, Shepard? Did the Atlas do this?" His voice was a hoarse but accusing whisper of sound.

She had to force herself to break his heated gaze and look down at her forearm. Thin streaks of red, burned skin traveled up her arms from her palms, ending in painful looking lines of pink blisters that branched around her elbow. She stiffened against the hold he had on her, a shiver of horror and shame traveling through her when she realized that the back of her neck, the area housing her implant, must look much worse. She tried to back away from him a second time, maneuvering toward the wall, wanting desperately to hide it, but he only shook his head in mute denial before moving both his hands to her waist and turning her around.

She stood achingly still, letting him study her, lowering her head in defeat. His hands loosened their grip on her waist, but his fingers remained, the ghost of a touch connecting them.

She couldn't help but feel slightly mortified that he was seeing her like this, and she tried to speak with numbing detachment, but she could not hide the tremor of her voice. "I overworked my biotics. It's not pretty."

His hands traced around the curve of her waist at the sound of her voice, pulling her back until she was tucked tenderly in the embrace of his arms.

"No, it's not."

She felt the sting of his candid confession more deeply than she cared to admit. She gave a small sound of protest and tried to move away from him, but she discovered to her consternation that his powerful arms, which had been holding her with the barest of pressure, were now ironclad and unmovable as they kept her pressed against his solid strength.

His mouth fluttered at the shell of her ear as he continued to speak, and for a moment she thought he almost sounded amused. "Not you, Lola. Don't play coy. You must know what you do to me. You think I would find a few bruises ugly?"

His lips brushed again across her ear. When his tongue darted out to trace the curve of it she couldn't stop herself from shivering against him.

"You are beautiful, even now." His breath feathered against her hair before he led a trail of scorching kisses from her neck to her shoulder.

He spoke with a husky sincerity that disarmed her, but she was distracted by the feel of his hands, sweeping down again to tease around her hips, just above the hemline of her shorts. She was having a difficult time concentrating on anything but the feel of him against her, so that the force of his next words did not initially register, as they were spoken with the same dangerous softness as his earlier confession.

"Soloing an Atlas, though, and burning out your biotics, now that's not pretty. Especially not after our little talk about my shuttle landing."

She blinked in abject confusion as he suddenly pushed her forward and moved away from her back. She felt bereft. Lost. The coldness of his swift departure provided a vivid and jarring contrast to the heat that had warmed her, and his words finally registered in the haze of her mind.

He moved to stand in front of her then, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his gaze now hooded even though she could see his desire lingering.

"They have a name for that. A double standard, I think they call it." The same softness lingered in his voice, but it was joined by hints of accusation.

She let out the breath she had been holding and tried to formulate a defensive response, but she had been taken by surprise. She found that she was unable to utter more than a few words that sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. "It's different!"

"The hell it is." His words were still delivered in a low hiss of a whisper, but his meaning cracked against her with the force of a whip. "I saw Liara and Kaidan get off that shuttle. You think they weren't affected? They looked defeated. What about them? 'We need you alive, James.' That's what you told me. Don't you think we need you alive?"

Shepard felt the sting of his words. She _had_ been too reckless, she had already admitted it to herself, but she was angry that he could see through her so easily. She advanced on him, predatory, angry too that she could still be so hungry for him despite the warnings in her head, angry at herself for losing her control, for losing _herself_ this day, angry at the Reapers, at Cerberus, at the weight of the galaxy pressing down upon her and most of all angry at her stubborn inability to take refuge in the one man who offered her redemption. It was too much, knowing that he could see her weakness, and it left her feeling too exposed, so that she was unwilling to admit defeat, not in these moments when she was so swiftly losing her composure.

He opened his mouth to say more, but she interrupted him with a curt warning. "That's enough, _Lieutenant_!"

His eyes widened at her tone, and he looked hurt as he stiffened and took an unsure step back from her position. She felt the tug of remorse, she felt the need to comfort him and again that damn incessant need to be comforted by him in return. It took everything she had to force her own needs to the back of her mind and remain detached.

_Alone._

"That's the card you want to play right now, Shepard?" His voice betrayed his surprise, but she saw his expression become hooded and closed.

"Just go." Her voice cracked on the words with an unfamiliar hoarseness, but her stance was unwavering. She watched him clenching and releasing his fists at his side, and she wondered if he would disobey her. A part of her hoped desperately that he would, that he would ignore her command and close the distance between them and haul her in his arms again, but to her bitter disappointment he bit out a final farewell.

"Right, _Commander_." The salute he gave her was a mockery of respectful deference as he turned on his heel and stalked from her room.


	16. Chapter 16

James let his arm rest casually over the back of the seat. His attention flickered to the cards he held against his knee, then moved at a rapid pace across his companions, assessing their expressions in the few dispassionate seconds it took for him to analyze them.

The two humans focusing on their own cards might have looked reserved to a casual observer, but James recognized the signs of desperation in their faces. A tightness around the mouth, a strained, hungry, almost feral look in the eyes. Nerves were stretched to the breaking point in the temporary dock housing, where most of the refugees had only the clothes on their backs and a few small but necessary provisions that wouldn't last much longer.

A man could do almost anything when he felt that desperate. James knew all too well what it was like to have your back that far up against the wall. To have choice ripped from your hands, to be left wondering if a quick death would have been a better end than the slow burn of torment and survivor's guilt.

Memories of his past flashed in his mind with searing clarity. The colony destroyed, the houses nothing more than smoking ruins. The charred remains of bodies. Men, women and children. They had been the lucky ones, there was no wondering about that, the ones who had died quickly, the ones not taken alive in the Collector attack.

If anyone had bothered to ask what he was doing swapping stories and playing cards down at the docks, he would have told them it was more relaxing than having to deal with the loud music and frantic, desperate partying in Purgatory.

He'd never admit that his real reason for being here was to lose what little he had to these refugees who had even less.

The Batarian was the most difficult to read, and the only one of his opponents who presented any real threat. James had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, despite his last game against Batarians, but in their few times playing together the former mercenary sitting across from him had drained him of pity and doubt.

He was hard, and mean, his stories cruel. His four eyes missed nothing, and he was incredibly resistant to taunts or heckling. His even, reserved temperament had frustrated James' attempts to rile him, to push him into revealing anything other than boredom or avarice.

James glanced at his cards again before meeting the merc's eyes and tilting his head to the right in imitation of Batarian insult. When he spoke, his words did not match the sneer in his voice. "You still in, friend?"

The Batarian didn't blink as he tossed his bet on the table, but his eyes slid with interest to the fifth of their group, another young human refugee. She was not part of their game but had plopped herself down on the seat next to James to watch their progress with avid fascination.

Under different circumstances James might have found amusement in her easy chatter, but he was getting uncomfortable with the predatory look in the Batarian's eyes. Those eerie eyes swept down a mere second before James felt her small, warm hand swirl on his leg in an inviting caress.

James shifted uncomfortably, thinking that perhaps the Batarian didn't present the biggest threat at the moment. He had politely curtailed her advances, had already turned down her offer to meet for drinks later, but she had scooted closer to him in the course of their most recent hand. He was almost tempted to give in to her request, as moments of light-hearted companionship were rare enough in times of war, but she wasn't what he really wanted.

He grasped her arm in the hand that wasn't otherwise occupied with his cards, about to give her a more stern rebuff than his previous polite discouragement, when he was distracted at the sight of Shepard speaking to Garrus in the temporary turian housing across from their table. He froze as her gaze passed over him, then snapped back to study his cozy pose. Her stare was blank, and unreadable, but he held her gaze and gave her a curt nod. She returned it, before turning her attention back to the turians.

He felt his temper briefly flare at her dismissive demeanor, and he clenched his fist around the cards in his hand, turning his now foul mood back towards the Batarian mercenary.

* * *

><p>Kaidan waited idly at the table he had reserved on the Presidium, wondering if Shepard would even show. He was eager to talk to her, as he hadn't really had a chance with recent events moving at such a rapid pace. He was pleased and surprised to see her moving towards his table. Her brow was furrowed in concern, and he wondered what was on her mind.<p>

He snorted to himself. What wasn't on her mind, these days?

She settled in across from him, and sharing a few casual remarks about the menu seemed to relax her. It felt almost normal, to sit at a table and enjoy drinks on the Presidium. Almost as if the world and the war could fade away into the distant background.

"I'm glad we're taking the time to do this. I could use a sanity check."

She lifted her gaze from the menu at his remark. "Things have been pretty crazy. How are you feeling these days?"

And just like that, the demands of the war came crashing back, along with his commander's familiar habit. She was doing it again, what she had always done since the moment he had met her, asking about him when he really wanted to talk about her. He didn't particularly want to feel anything when he contemplated the capability and force of their enemy, but he wasn't about to confess his bleak assessment. "I'm feeling up to whatever the Reapers throw at me. And grateful that I convinced you to sit down for half a second and relax."

She smiled at his cavalier response, and that gave him the courage to continue his facade after they ordered their drinks. "You know what though, I feel good about our chances."

The look of surprise in her eyes was swiftly replaced by doubt and hesitation. Shepard was not easy to bluff, so he admitted with a wry smile, "Well, that's what I tell myself. It lets me sleep better at night."

"You're not sleeping Kaidan?"

She was relentless. He wondered to himself why he even bothered trying to deny her, amazed at how easily he fell into the comfortable habit of confiding in her again. "Maybe a little bit restless. But the war isn't the only thing keeping me up at night. You know my life flashed before my eyes on Mars. And there weren't enough moments like this, with people I care about. Everything is happening so fast. So much has changed."

She looked at him then, really looked at him. "You mean I have changed."

"Well I know I have. So yea, maybe. You always took the most risks, Shepard, but only when you had to. Eden Prime was…well it made me realize that I really don't know you anymore, do I?"

He wasn't surprised when she hedged his question. "So you're saying I need a sanity check?"

"I'm saying you shouldn't keep everything all bottled up. You can't do this by yourself."

"Some things I have to do by myself. People look to me, Kaidan."

"I've had my own command too. I know what it's like to have people depending on you. But I also know that I don't have to shoulder everything alone. We've been through a lot, together and on our own. I told you I had your back, Shepard, and I meant it. You can trust me. You can _talk_ to me."

"I know I can." She broke from his gaze to nurse the rest of her drink, and despite the fact that he felt his old feelings for her blossoming as if the long, cold years hadn't even happened, she seemed as distant and as far away as she had when he had thought her dead and lost to him.

He knew she wasn't going to take his offer even before she got up to leave, reminding him to be back on the ship in a few hours, as they would be departing soon for the Far Rim.

* * *

><p>Shepard tried to remain calm as she prepared for her next ambassadorial assignment with the Quarians. Their fleet was massive, and they desperately needed their help in the fight against the Reapers. But Kaidan's words had haunted her over the past few days during their travel to the Far Rim. Her rational, calculating mind could admit that he was right, but arrogant pride warred for dominion in her heart, fighting her need to break down and lean on someone.<p>

Not someone. _James_.

Kaidan had been talking about himself when he had urged her to open up, but her mind had unwillingly drifted instead to the lieutenant. It had been a few days since their heated exchange, but she had been busy with errands on the Citadel, and they had not spoken. Their few encounters had been strained, and she was unhappy with how things currently stood between them.

Making a swift decision that she hoped she wouldn't later regret, she headed down to the shuttle bay.

Hopping off the elevator she saw James bent over his workbench, laboring over a rifle. She braced herself to speak with him, but he anticipated her approach, and addressed her without turning around.

"Commander."

Surprised that he could tell it was her, she almost shivered at the chill in his greeting.

"James, can I talk to you?"

He made a show of carefully setting each piece of the rifle down with patient precision, before turning around in what seemed to her like reluctance. When he finally stood facing her, there was a wariness in his posture, and a certain cold detachment that she had only ever seen in his eyes the day the Reapers had attacked. She stiffened at the sight of it, remembering the times he had looked at her with emotion, and she felt the sting of loss more sharply than she cared to admit.

She swallowed. "I owe you an apology, James."

He was silent for a moment, before answering with the same clipped and precise tones he used to respond to commands on the battlefield. "You don't owe me anything, Shepard."

He was distant, and without the familiar heat of his gaze warming her with its security, she was vividly reminded of just how large and imposing a figure he really was. She was often so focused on his eyes, and the teasing affection that she hadn't fully realized was even there until it was gone, that she had paid little attention to the scars marring the rugged planes of his face or the elaborate tattoo peeking from the collar of his shirt. Her eyes traced over these features now and, as if they had a will of their own, trailed even further down his broad, muscular frame. He seemed to notice the wayward direction of her gaze, as he leaned back and crossed his brawny arms over his chest.

She forced herself to focus on the fact that she had at least been upgraded from the purposefully distancing title of "Commander," in the course of their conversation, and tried to get his attention with the playful teasing they had shared in the past.

"I'm pretty sure I owe you _something_, at least by your own count."

One brow flickered up at her reminder, the only indication that he had even heard her.

She sighed. This was not going as she had hoped, and instead of trying to draw him out, she stumbled headlong into her apology. "You were right, James. About Eden Prime. I got angry and defensive and I'm sorry I took it out on you. It's always been hard for me to let people in. And you see a lot more than anyone else. I mean you see a lot more of _me_ than anyone else. But I should have listened to you. And it was wrong of me to pull rank like that."

He stared at her for a long, assessing moment, and she had to resist the urge to shift under his attention, when the hint of a smile ghosted across his lips, although it did not quite reach his eyes.

"I understand, Shepard. Apology accepted."

"Not Lola?" She knew she was pushing it, but the words fell unbidden from her lips before she could stop them.

His smile deepened, and this time she saw the spark of it echo in his eyes, despite the negative shake of his head.

"You might have to dance with me again to earn that one back."

* * *

><p>James was having a difficult time remaining aloof from his former prisoner turned commander. His instincts told him often enough that she was dangerous, this difficult, stubborn soldier woman, but he had long ago stopped listening to his instincts wherever she was concerned.<p>

He had been angry about their last confrontation in her quarters, at least he had been angry at first, but he could also admit that he understood her hesitancy where he was concerned. He didn't much like it, but at least he understood it. If she wanted to erect boundaries, so be it.

But her sincere apology had weakened his resolve, despite his vow to keep his distance, and he found that he was insatiably curious to find out if the hint of invitation he had read in her eyes was real, or just a product of his own wishful thinking. He put his hand on her arm and gently pulled her towards him. "About this _something_ you owe me?"

It was her turn to quirk an inquisitive brow, but she smiled, and she was not pulling away from him. He took this as a good sign to continue. "Tonight. You can pay me back tonight. There's something I want to talk about, I could use some good advice. We can do it over a friendly game?"

The smile remained, but he also noticed a calculating glint in her eye. "You sure you're ready to lose again so soon? It didn't look like you were doing so hot the other day."

He smirked at her remark. So she had noticed. "We don't have to play, Shepard. But if you're gonna worry about someone losing, it shouldn't be me."

His taunt hit the mark. "All right, James, I'll play. It might be good for me. I've been told I need a sanity check."

He wondered what she meant by that comment, but she didn't elaborate, and he was distracted from pressing her about it when she coyly asked him what their stakes would be.

He pulled her even closer to his chest, so he could whisper in her ear, and the drugging euphoria of her presence after two days avoiding her provided the only explanation for his current wicked, mischievous streak. "If we're going to have stakes, then you have to promise not to throw your commander card. I can't be worrying about you pulling rank on me while we play."

She stared up at him, and he wondered if he had pushed his luck. But then she smiled, flippantly, and blithely answered as if he hadn't just invited himself up to her quarters and demanded she relinquish her role as his commanding officer, on her own ship no less. "I promise. We can play for stories, like we meant to back in the brig, remember?"

He flashed her a genuine smile of approval at her assent. "I remember."

"Good, then you'll also remember that I was winning at the time."

She turned to leave him with the smug remark, but he was in too playful a mood now to let her go with the last laugh. He schooled his features into the very picture of innocence as he delivered his next request.

"About those Quarians, send them a message for me, will you? Make sure to tell them 'there's nothing this galaxy can't beat if we all work together.'"

She whipped around, her jaw dropping as she recognized the quote.

"You saw my VI?" He couldn't help snickering at the horrified surprise in her face that matched so well with the familiar flush on the back of her neck.

"Hell, I almost bought the damn thing." He moved to stand next to her, and he couldn't resist wrapping his right arm across her shoulder and tugging her close to him again. He pointed her towards the opposite side of his workspace and gestured with his free hand. "I was gonna set it up right there, next to my punching bag."

He felt a twitch against his side, and he wondered if she was holding in a laugh. He continued after only a brief pause, placing he free hand over his heart in exaggerated sincerity.

"It always makes me feel so good to hear you tell me I'm one hell of a looker."

She did laugh then, shaking her head with a wry smile. When she headed for the elevator, he was happy to note she walked with a decidedly lighter step than when he had listened to her arrival.


	17. Chapter 17

"Too risky for the whole team. I'll secure the docking area. Hang tight, it'll just be a minute."

James waited impatiently at the Normandy's forward hatch, as Shepard gave her orders and then retreated through the door to cross the tangled mess of wire and metal, all that remained of the docking tube to the geth dreadnought.

The quarian waited with him, her name hidden somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Much more present were her eyes, glittering at him through the mask which hid the rest of her features. He had always felt stymied and frustrated in the presence of quarians. He could never get a good read on them as easily as he could other species. Their masks took away his edge, and left him feeling disconcerted, to say the least.

He shifted against the wall, breaking her gaze, trying not to think about crossing the broken tunnel that connected their two ships. He was not looking forward to it. It was dangerous, this fragile bridge that was the only thing keeping them from the sinister pull of vast, unending space, and James had never considered himself the most graceful of men.

The quarian's musing voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I wonder if it is hard for her."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Walking into space like that. It's where she died. I mean not _this_ space, just…you know." She gave a delicate shrug, as if she assumed he would know what she meant.

He immediately straightened from the wall, speaking to himself more than to her. "I'd forgotten that she'd been spaced."

The quarian's next words were dismissive as she paced to the far wall, distracted by her omni-tool. "It's silly of me to even wonder. Shepard is never shaken by anything. Not even death."

He nodded at her words, distracted by his thoughts, when the transmission of Shepard's voice made him instantly alert.

"No wonder the quarians were having trouble. That ship is enormous."

He was listening intently, wondering if the slight, strained tremor in her voice was a trick of his imagination or a symptom of distortion from their headsets.

The quarian responded to her comment about the geth ship with a question of her own, but Shepard did not answer. James shared a look with her, and in that moment he thought he was able to read a flicker of concern.

* * *

><p>Shepard slowly and methodically picked her way through the broken tunnel, with careful breathing that matched her precise and even steps. She felt a tightness in her chest as she gazed out a second huge gash in the side of the tunnel, this one facing the planet Rannoch. The sight was beautiful, but beautiful in the deadliest sense of the word, with nothing but her armor separating the tenuous fragility of life from the immeasurable expanse of space. She didn't allow herself to become overly entranced by the view.<p>

The quarian and geth ships continued their furious battle, their constant cannon fire sending muted ripples of movement through the metal under her feet. Suddenly, a particularly large explosion close to the geth ship sent a shaking tremor shuddering through the already structurally weakened tunnel.

She wavered in place at the abrupt movement, feeling off balance now, no longer only due to the disorienting lack of gravity. In that tense moment her calm concentration was jarred as the repressed but fragmented memory of her death assaulted her.

Twisted broken metal. The outline of Alchera looming in her sights.

_His green eyes widened in horror, his mouth moving, shouting, but she could no longer hear him._

_She was drifting away, overwhelmed by the icy realization that there would be no escape pod for her._

_She felt a brief moment of panic. _

_She didn't want to die._

_No, a greater terror loomed._

_She didn't want to die alone._

_Selfish._

_She realized it instantly, focused herself to her task as she had always done._

_She flexed her body to reach out to the console to initiate his pod release._

_His green eyes widened in horror, his mouth moving, shouting, but she could no longer hear him._

_Her ship, her home, crumbling to pieces around her._

_The weightlessness was disconcerting. There was no pressure._

_Around her, nothing but haunting, deceptive beauty._

_Space was her home._

_She was coming home._

_She felt a snap at the back of her neck. The brief moment of peace and acceptance was shattered._

_Pain._

_It consumed her._

_Pressure now, unlike anything she had ever felt._

_She was falling, suffocating, her lungs painfully demanding air, her skin burning._

_Her body was wracked by a convulsion, snapping her spine._

_The last thing she remembered before the darkness claimed her was the horrifying sensation of her tongue beginning to boil._

"How are you doing, Shepard?"

The sound of Tali's concerned voice snapped her instantly from the painful flashback. But she found that she was breathing too hard now to formulate an immediate answer. She chose instead to focus on slowly pushing the vivid memory aside.

She was already moving forward again, with resolute steps that were no match for the swift beating of her heart, when the husky tones of James' voice resonated in her ear.

"Hey. Lola."

She felt a rush of comfort at the calming sound of his voice, as he teased her with the nickname that she hadn't heard in several days.

"James. I thought I owed you a dance for that."

"I'm in a generous mood."

"I see. Nice now, collect something else later?"

"I can't believe you would think such a thing."

She almost laughed at the exaggerated mock hurt in his voice, and the remnants of the memories of her death faded to the recesses of her mind. "Hey Tali, I think you're really going to like the view."

"Better than a vid?"

"Much better."

"I thought the same thing about Shepard when I first met her."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes at James' remark, though no one was there to see the gesture. He seemed intent on teasing her as she continued her slow journey through the tunnel. He never typically flirted so outrageously while they were on missions, instead focused on their priorities and the next target, as she usually was. She briefly wondered if he had somehow discerned her brief moment of panic and had purposefully chosen this method of distraction. Later, she would have to consider what that might mean, but for now she couldn't stop herself from playing along.

"You're lucky I owe you one, soldier."

"I'll just keep your tab open, shall I?"

"Go right ahead."

"Don't run it too high, now, or I'll have to make you to call me commander."

She snorted at the audacity of the idea. "Dream on, _Lieutenant_. Not gonna happen."

"You think? I can be very persuasive."

His words sent a tingle of awareness down her spine. He had flirted with her before, had teased her often enough, but he had rarely spoken to her in this particular tone of voice. He practically purred his words, in a husky, velvety growl full of heated promise.

Just as quickly as the tone had arrived and permeated her senses, it was gone, replaced by light humor.

"We should bet on it. Hey Tali, you think I can get Shepard to call me commander?"

At the sound of Tali's muttered and hardly audible "Keelah," Shepard felt herself let out her own muffled laugh. She had almost forgotten that her quarian friend was still privy to their conversation, and no doubt Joker had heard as well. She didn't even have time to feel guilty about it, as she realized with a feeling of surprised triumph that she had arrived at her destination.

She was about to take the last step from the tunnel to the Geth ship, when she felt another sudden movement as the metal tube began to break away from its moorings. She frantically disengaged her mag-boots and pushed off with her feet, again feeling the disorienting, disturbing weightlessness of floating in space.

She sighed with relief, her momentum was enough to allow her to reach the geth docking area, although a new problem had presented itself.

"Looks like the rest of the team isn't using the docking tube."

Joker's dry, sarcastic voice rasped in her ear. "So I'm guessing you'd rather not solo the dreadnought."

"Not if I can help it."

* * *

><p>Shepard moved with haste to the location where Tali and James would enter. Ships had always reminded her of home to a certain extent, and geth ships, with their bare, sterile interiors, had always creeped her out, with their absence of personalization. Of even the hint of comfort.<p>

Of life, some might be inclined to argue.

She might have been inclined to argue it herself at one time, until she had seen Legion's creative use of her old N7 armor.

There was another reason she was eager to finish this mission as swiftly as possible. She had always been acutely aware that countless thousands of lives were lost each and every day they spent working to gather resources and allies. But this particular mission, with the effects of battle so vividly present, from her meeting with the desperate quarians that very morning to the sight of exploding ships as she crossed from the Normandy, she felt even more strongly the pressure of those fighting and dying around her.

She was curt and focused by the time her companions arrived on the ship, almost frustrated to find that she had a few moments to spare as Tali hacked the door blocking their progress.

She turned to check on James, and as their eyes met through the glass of their visors, she felt their silent connection, and he nodded, a small confirmation of recognition and shared trust. She should have been concerned. He had gone beyond his uncanny ability to read her expressions and emotions. His previous actions had hinted that he could know her well enough to recognize a situation and anticipate her reactions.

Her initial instinct was to close herself off again, to establish her comfortable emotional aloofness, but she found that it was no longer as easy to do as it had been in the past. She pushed any concern aside for the moment, to be dealt with after the mission was over, and settled instead on simple gratitude. "Thanks, James."

He shrugged, giving her a look of almost innocent confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She was tempted to press him about it, or at least find an appropriately teasing response, but Tali had pointed out an Arc Pistol she had brought with her and set down near the door she was currently hacking, and he was already bounding off to investigate.

"This'll be helpful against geth. Thanks, Sparks."

Shepard tried not to laugh at James' chosen nickname for the quarian, and Tali's sudden posture of confused surprise. James at least had the grace to look embarrassed as he hastily explained.

"Yeah, you've got lights in your, uh…And you're kinda small and jumpy. It just came out."

Tali sent Shepard an unreadable look before uncrossing her arms and heading through the recently hacked door, another muttered "Keelah" following in her wake.

James shrugged apologetically. "I've never been good with quarians."

"Are you any better with geth?"

He smiled wolfishly, all discomfort gone from his now predatory expression.

"Geth love me, Lola. Let's get this damn ship disabled before they invite me to dinner. I've already got plans this evening."


	18. Chapter 18

Shepard closed her eyes and leaned back without even thinking, relaxing her muscles and enjoying the moment of release as her adrenaline rush faded and her heart slowed down to a more steady pace. She felt James pressed up beside her, shifting into a comfortable position.

A knee jabbed the small of her back, and she tried not to wince as she stiffly straightened again.

"Sorry," James muttered.

"Does the storage compartment have adequate room, Shepard-Commander?"

She was sitting on the floor next to James' hulking frame, knees pulled up to her chest in the cramped space. James was a bit behind her and to her right, Tali crouched in front of him. It was hardly comfortable, but in the aftermath of their battle and near death aboard the exploding dreadnought, it was a safe enough little haven.

"We're fine," she said, wanting to reassure Legion, although she doubted it was necessary. It wasn't as if they had time to choose another method of escape.

James shifted his position again, almost knocking her off balance. It wasn't nearly as easy for him to fold his larger and less flexible frame as it was for her and Tali. Hearing him give one last muttered expletive, Shepard felt herself lifted from the floor as he stretched his legs diagonally across the space where she had been sitting, and settled her unceremoniously in his lap. She stiffened, so surprised at the swiftness with which he completed the maneuver that she was about to protest, but he had already leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, his arms hanging limply from his shoulders.

She had to admit, it _was_ more comfortable.

She stole a glance at Tali, wondering if her quarian friend would have a comment about their rather forced but intimate arrangement, but she had moved herself to settle in the space his legs had vacated, her own attention focused solely on Legion.

"I don't think we would have made it without your help. I'm sorry I doubted you."

Tali seemed intent on reassuring their geth companion, and Shepard felt her heart clench seeing the reminders of the tenuous friendship that had blossomed between the two former enemies.

"Your caution was understandable, Creator Zorah. Do you still deem it necessary to restrain this platform?"

"No, Legion, I don't."

While they were busy with conversation, she heard James mumbling to her through his headset. "I was only joking about the whole geth dinner thing."

She smiled, now at ease with their position, and leaned back against his still armored chest. He must have been surprised at her sudden relaxation, as she felt the hiss of his indrawn breath, before one arm came up to settle around her waist.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, James exited the elevator and walked to the Crew Lounge with a determined stride, more than a little distracted by thoughts of heading up to Shepard's cabin. He made a direct heading to the empty poker table to claim one of the communal decks there. He hadn't had the chance to replace his old lucky deck yet, or perhaps he simply hadn't had the heart to replace it, since he probably could have obtained a new one during their stops on the Citadel.<p>

Finishing his quick errand, he turned from the table and caught sight of Major Alenko sitting at the bar, unnoticed upon his arrival, either due to his distraction or the low light on the far side of the room. Alenko had turned around to look at him, his eyes flickering down to the pilfered deck in his hand with apparent curiosity. "You having a private game, lieutenant?"

James stiffened at his choice of words. There weren't many places available on the Normandy for a "private" game.

There weren't many crew members who wouldn't simply prefer to play in the lounge, where everyone played and gathered during breaks from often long and stressful shifts. Alenko hadn't become the second human Spectre without the ability to quickly and accurately put two and two together.

The question was not as innocuous as it appeared, and so James answered with hesitation. "Something like that."

Alenko's eyes narrowed, glinted like molten gold in the low bar light, and James felt the latent challenge as he saw his hand tighten around the drink he had been nursing. He stood at attention in front of the door, waiting to see if the major would have something else to say, but instead of responding, his eyes flickered over him one last time before turning back to his drink. He had almost looked dismissive, but James noted the tick in his jaw, and realized that Alenko was not as calm and nonplussed as he might have appeared.

James hesitated, about to press an issue he wasn't sure he had business to in this particular context. Realizing his near mistake, he exited the room swiftly. It certainly wasn't the first time he had wondered about Shepard and Alenko. It wasn't the first time he had been confronted with their former acquaintance either, but if he was going to start asking questions, he sure as hell wasn't going to direct them to the major.

* * *

><p>Shepard sat at her desk, freshly showered and clothed in a comfortable fitted shirt and black knit pants. She was busy reviewing Legion's report on the geth fighter squadrons still making attacks on quarian liveships. She had felt so victorious earlier, when they had disabled the Reaper signal from the geth dreadnought, but the brief high of the triumph had dissipated. In the morning, she would be heading to Rannoch to disable the geth comm hub and destroy the Reaper base.<p>

It was going to be a long day.

She stared at the bottle of whiskey she had wasted no time in opening.

It was potent stuff, this 45 year old scotch. It left teasing hints of honey and citrus in the nose, a blend of sherry and clove on the tongue, and heated warmth in its wake with a drugging, smoky finish.

It was smooth. Alluring.

Easy to drink.

And easier to start to forget.

She got up from her desk, grabbing the open bottle and her glass, when she heard James' request to enter. She greeted him at the door as he walked in, wearing his usual tee and fatigues. She sighed in relief, glad she hadn't chosen anything nicer for herself, not that she had many options in her trunk anyway.

She preceded him down the steps to her sitting area, and he must have noticed the distinctive bottle in her hand.

"Lola, is that what I think it is."

She turned around and smiled. "It is."

"Where the hell did you get a bottle of Mount Milgrom?"

"A gift from an old friend."

"Some friend. Care to introduce me?"

She laughed at the thought. She imagined that James would like Zaeed Massani. She then shuddered to imagine all the trouble the two warrior men could cause. "It's someone who was on my Cerberus team. Helluva fighter. A little hot-headed, sometimes, but I let him get away with it."

"Really? Why's that?"

She shrugged, sending him a knowing, teasing look. "I liked his scars."

He quirked a brow and accepted the glass she had poured for him. He closed his eyes, simply content to swirl the rather expensive and rare whiskey and give it a cautious sniff, before bringing the glass to his mouth.

He practically moaned at the taste, opening his eyes and moving to get comfortable on the couch in her sitting area. "Ah, that's good."

He took another, larger sip, and she could see him rolling it around on his tongue, leaning his head back in relaxed enjoyment as he swallowed. She couldn't help but watch the lines of his throat move with avid fascination, now fully distracted by the almost sensual enjoyment he had taken in the whiskey.

When he noticed that she was still standing in front of her fish tank, simply staring in bemusement, he smiled, and patted his lap in open invitation.

She laughed, shaking her head, as she moved to sit next to him. "I don't think so."

"You seemed to like it before," he teased.

"I'm not going to make it a habit."

He shrugged and gave her a challenging "We'll see," as he pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket and tossed it on the low table in front of her couch.

Her own response was a teasing challenge in itself. "Did you want to bet on that too?"

"I dunno, Lola, if I lose, do I get to sit on _your_ lap?"

She couldn't help but let out a sharp bark of laughter at the image of her smaller frame trying to accommodate his hulking mass. She leaned back, feeling more at ease and relaxed now with the whiskey warming her belly and his familiar presence at her side. It was almost as if they were back in the detention center, enjoying some light-hearted camaraderie in the days before the Reapers attacked, and for once she allowed the illusion to sweep her away.

She enjoyed another sip of the whiskey, and it seemed to whisper reassuringly in her ear.

_Rannoch is tomorrow_, it seemed to say, _there is nothing you can do about it now_.

She sighed, staring into the deep amber liquid glinting in her glass. "I guess I do need a sanity check once in a while."

"Did someone tell you that?" He did not look at her, but remained in his relaxed position, head back, staring off at the far wall.

She leaned her own head back against the seat and closed her eyes for a moment, mirroring James' comfortable repose. "Yeah. Kaidan."

He was still for a moment, before he responded to her confession. "Well, I can't say I would argue with the major on that one."

"The major? No clever nickname?"

She felt rather than heard him give a little snicker of amusement. "I doubt Alenko would appreciate the gesture the way you do."

They shared a companionable silence for a few minutes, before James picked up the trail of the conversation. "So…you and the major were close?"

The usually defensive side of her personality sent her a tense warning to nip this particular topic in the bud, but she surprised even herself by her simple, honest response. "Yeah. We were."

If he was equally as surprised at the candid confession, he gave no outward sign. She rolled her head to the side to look at him, but he was still staring straight ahead, slowly blinking in relaxation, his eyelids hooded and heavy, his glass now empty.

As if sensing her intent gaze, he too turned his head to the side to meet her eyes. There was no pressure for her to speak in his expression, not even the hint of question. But his very presence, as always, was inviting and full of warmth, and she found herself speaking, lulled into confessing things she had never spoken of before.

Perhaps it was him, or perhaps it was the whiskey.

"We were close, yeah. We suffered through so much together. Sometimes, you just feel like the whole world is against you, and you only have your team on your side, you know? Hardly anyone would believe us about the Reapers. There wasn't a lot of people I could trust. And everybody wanted something."

He gave her a wry smile. "Not much has changed."

"Some things have changed." She had spoken the words in the barest of whispers, uncertain herself what exactly she might have meant.

There was not much space separating their bodies as they sat next to each other on the couch, and in turning towards each other, their faces were now achingly close. She saw his eyes widen at her response, and then drift down to focus on her lips, and she felt the heat of languid desire begin to pool throughout her body. She wanted to lean forward, to separate the few inches between them, and press her lips to his, to taste with her tongue the heated warmth of smoke and clover the whiskey had no doubt left behind. She was about to give in to the enticing pressure of her desire, when his eyes lifted to hers again, and he stopped her with another piercing question.

"What about your feelings? Did those change?"

She felt her own eyes widen, and saw his look of equal chagrin, almost as if he wished he could retract the question. Her surprise, however, was less to do with the fact that he had asked and more to do with the fact that she wasn't sure of her answer.

Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko. No, she snorted to herself, Major now. She had loved him, once, or at least she thought she had. He had been a trusted ally. A trusted, unshakeable friend. She had relied on him throughout their various missions, but especially at the end, before Ilos, in that desperate time when she had felt almost defeated.

Lost.

But he had found her. Pulled her back from the edge. He was more than a friend, he had become her lover. It was all a blur, really, as she thought about it now, trying to make sense of it.

Fast. Intense.

Neither of them had really confessed feelings at that time. They certainly hadn't had a real relationship in any traditional sense of the word.

And then she had died.

And then she was with Cerberus.

And the rest was a story of betrayal and heartache the likes of which she had not thought possible. She had always been a bit of a loner, growing up a military brat, accompanying one or the other of her parents from station to station. It was hard to make friends. Hard to learn how to get close to someone. And even with Kaidan, she had never fully opened herself up to him, and yet he had hurt her still.

He had loved her, he said.

He _had_.

And it had _hurt_.

How could she explain it to this man? _She_ didn't even know what her feelings were, and after Horizon she had buried the remnants of whatever they were, buried them deep, so that she could forget.

Pain and betrayal.

That's what she felt when she thought too hard about Kaidan, she realized with bitterness.

Yes, her feelings had damn sure changed.

With the whiskey warming her belly and the heat of James' intent gaze on her face, she found that she wasn't interested in analyzing the cold and harsh tangle of her feelings for Kaidan, past or present.

With James, it was all so different. He had given her trust of a different kind, and unwavering support at her side. He was warmth and heat, a slow burn which had started from the moment they had met, if she were honest with herself. And she burned even more intensely now, not painful but aching with a different kind of simmering fire.

There was a tangle of feelings there, too, that she wasn't ready yet to face. And that bewitching whiskey, blurring her attempts to make neat, straight lines on the course of her life, taunting her with insidious demand.

_You want him._

She did. She wanted him. And right now, she wanted simple.

If she couldn't have that, then she damn sure wanted her sanity check.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Mature chapter ahead, pretty much throughout. I went all in on this one, although later love scenes will likely not be quite so expansive.

For the time spent critiquing this chapter and offering really great suggestions, I owe super big thanks to the lovely and talented PestoMonkey (who, as you may already know, writes amazingly hot stuff. If you don't know, go read Blackwork and find out!)

So whatever is hot is likely due to her guidance, and whatever isn't you can blame on me.

* * *

><p><em>What about your feelings? Did those change?<em>

James was silently kicking himself. She had been so relaxed, and he swore he saw the hint of desire reflected in her eyes, matching his own simmering lust. His body had been screaming at him to kiss her, to claim her, but his stupid mouth had apparently had other plans.

_Stupid._

She had broken his gaze at his question, but she had not pulled back from him. Her next words gave him considerable pause, although it wasn't exactly the answer he was seeking.

"It's not Kaidan I want right now."

And then she was kissing him, hot and hungry. He was stiff with shock at first, rigid, every muscle in his body going taut. She kissed him with fierce abandon, her tongue plunging boldly into his mouth, parting his lips to sweep past the line of his teeth and tangle with his own.

She pressed her body against him, half in his lap already, and he felt dizzy with the sudden onslaught of repressed desire. The lust hit him hard and mean, his body tightening with a reaction that was almost dangerous, but entirely male. He groaned into her mouth, his own hands still fisted at his thighs, hers tugging at the back of his neck with insistent demand. He responded with a sweeping flick of his own tongue, tasting the whiskey in her mouth as she sucked at him, hitching her leg higher across his thighs.

He was out of breath already, wavering at the very edge of self-control, but his damn nagging conscience pricked at the back of his drugged mind. He was not yet ready to give himself over completely to the pleasurable aggression of her touch. Before she could stop him, he pushed her away and stood abruptly, ignoring her small, incoherent sound of protest. He paced a few feet from the couch to stand before the tank that took up the bulk of one wall in her cabin. He stared at the colorful fish swimming blissfully within, ignorant to the turmoil of the man watching them. He fought to calm the swift beat of his heart, to ignore the almost painful erection now straining the seam of his pants.

Six months ago, he might have jumped at the chance to get in bed with such a compelling woman, not caring whether she had feelings for him, or anyone else for that matter. For the majority of his adult life, his own attitude towards relationships had been fairly pragmatic, the women he had pursued typically equally so. It confused him, that he was so concerned over the issue now, concerned over the loyalties of this woman, in particular.

He felt rather than heard her soft approach, aware now more than before of her heightened emotional state, her biotics always casting a certain dryness in the air that he had learned to recognize in recent weeks at her side. She was quiet, seemingly content to stand behind him for the moment and wait for whatever decision he would make. He was no coward, couldn't stop himself from turning around to face her, although when he saw her expression, he almost wished he had.

"You don't want this, James?" She moved closer as he turned, and she didn't stop until she was flush against him. She flexed up on her toes, sliding her breasts over the expanse of his chest.

His voice was hoarse as she leaned in to flutter delicate kisses on his chin and up his jaw. "You know I do."

He tipped his head back, swallowing hard, and she took advantage of this position by trailing a hot line of kisses down the thick column of his neck, lingering on the tattoo peeking over the edge of his collar. "Then what seems to be the problem?"

Knowing that he was already lost, he grabbed her by the tops of her arms and pushed her away, just enough so that he could look into her eyes. He saw the desire there, to match his own, and something else that he couldn't quite name.

_Why does she think of you when she should be focused on the enemy?_

The Prothean's words flickered in the back of his mind. He had been mulling that conversation over since it happened, and especially since he had found out that Protheans could access memory through touch. Javik might have thought him a primitive, but he wasn't a liar.

_You are at the forefront of her mind, James Vega._

At the vivid reminder of the fact that his commander, _his Lola_, thought about him when she shouldn't, and what that might mean, his reservations slipped away, one by one.

Everything slipped away.

He forgot about the major, he forgot she was his commander, he forgot the Reapers, his worries about his possible N7 commendation. He forgot about his damned roiling emotions. His eyes fell to her lips, and his mind zeroed in on the one urge that nearly always plagued him in her presence.

* * *

><p>Shepard felt the drugging pull of whiskey and desire thrumming throughout her body. She was unsure why James had hesitated, since she could see the desire smoldering in his dark eyes, but her curiosity was burned away the instant he seemed to make a decision.<p>

"Hell yeah I want this." She couldn't suppress a flare of triumph as his grip on her upper arms tightened, and he dragged her against his chest.

The heat of him permeated her senses as he savored her, like he had savored the whiskey, taking his sweet time with his mouth against hers.

This kiss was exploration, nothing like the one she had given him before, deliberate and leisurely.

His lips were soft against hers, inviting, as he teased her with the barest of pressure, sweeping his hands up her arms and over her shoulders. He deepened the kiss as his hands moved down her spine, and she shivered at the feel of the broad heat of them settling at the small of her back. Their warming heat became an insistent pressure as he pulled her closer, finally breaching the seam of her mouth with the silky hot wetness of his tongue.

The taste of him was intoxicating, but he pulled away from her mouth to press his lips in unhurried kisses up the length of her jaw, in blatant imitation of her earlier gesture. She was content to simply enjoy the feel of him as he licked and nipped his way down her throat, swirling his velvety tongue over her now madly fluttering pulse. She felt as if she were on fire, heat dancing under her skin everywhere his mouth touched. He grazed his teeth under her ear, tickling her skin with the rough stubble of his chin, before claiming her mouth again.

His slow, teasing assault on her senses began to feel like a torment. She wanted more, so much more, and she was done being passive. She lifted her hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging it loose from his pants and trailing her fingers over the chiseled planes of his belly. She felt him growl in warning against her mouth, his muscles clenching under her soft, caressing touch. She ignored it, sweeping her hands further up to trace her thumbs under the defined lines of his chest, before ghosting them over his now sensitive nipples.

He tensed, coiling under her touch as if to strike, his hands clenching against her waist, then lower to cup her ass, molding her closer against his muscled thighs and holding her in place as he pressed his arousal to her belly.

She moaned into his mouth at the heated promise of the gesture, her hands insistent, nails scraping down over the places her fingers had teased into sensitivity.

He was so _hard_, everywhere, and she wanted to see him.

She caught the hem of his shirt in her fists in an attempt to remove it, but his strong arms held her pressed against him, inhibiting her, and she protested with barely contained frustration.

"I want this damn shirt off."

He moved with dizzying speed, turning her in his arms so that she was facing away from him, and he pressed up against her from behind.

His heated words teased her ear. "Still trying to take command, Lola?"

"I can't help it," she muttered, and his breath was hot and moist in her ear as he chuckled.

"I am aware. But you promised."

"For a game of cards!"

He dared to laugh at her presumption, giving her lobe a gentle nip before trailing his tongue around the inner curve of her ear. "And this game doesn't have stakes?"

"Doesn't have to." She sounded desperate, perhaps hesitant. Was she trying to convince him, or herself?

His whisper was a low-pitched, raspy vibration, sending silky tendrils of desire curling down her spine. "Only a fool would think that."

Brushing his lips down her neck, his hands distracted her from responding as they traced lazy circles down to her belly. The edge of her shirt had ridden up, and she gasped at the feel of his fingertips pressing into the bare skin at her waist. It felt as if she was being branded, the fire of that simple touch spreading throughout her body in demanding waves. His hands caressed up under her shirt, hitching it higher until she lifted her arms in compliance when he moved to tug it over her head, assuming his shirt would be soon to follow.

"So uh…did you want to play cards right now?"

It was a ridiculous question, they both knew it, but she answered anyway. "No."

Her bra came off with the same experienced quickness as her shirt, exposing more of her skin to his practiced touch. And just like his kiss, this caress was another lulling, restrained stroking. He was in no hurry, it seemed, his fingers only teasing at the underside of her breast, causing a shiver of expectant pleasure that left her swelling and peaking.

She stole a glance down, captivated by the sight of his large, calloused hands against her soft, pale skin. At the vivid reminder of the contrast between his powerful hands, and the tenderness with which he touched her, she let out heartfelt sigh. He rewarded the soft sound by brushing the calloused pad of his finger over her already fully aroused nipple, grazing it lightly, back and forth. He created a delicious, unceasing friction that soon skirted the boundary of pleasure and pain in its intensity, despite his gentleness, and she arched herself into his touch, silently begging for more.

"Do you want keep playing this game?" His question was mocking.

"Yes," she hissed, biting her lip to keep herself from crying out as he plucked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed and tugged, and she felt the heat of it everywhere, felt it pooling between her legs, and she shifted restlessly in his arms.

Aware of what she wanted, he traced his free hand down over her belly to dance around the waist of her knit pants, slowly working them over her hips before slipping under the soft, pliant fabric of her underwear. As if to tease her with what his fingers could be doing, he plunged his tongue into her ear. "You gonna play by my rules?"

This question was less mocking than the last, her answer perhaps less obvious, and she wondered if he would really stop if she refused him. He seemed intent on her submission in this, whatever that might mean, and she didn't think she could deny him. Hardly wanted to, and he was certainly not interested in playing fair. His questing fingers were busy, caressing lower, tracing patient circles down her mound, each one closer to the core of her than the last. She could barely remember what he had asked, could barely form a coherent thought as he ceased his taunting and pressed even lower, his large, blunt fingers sliding over her slit, parting her slick delicate folds to touch her with exquisite care.

She whimpered, almost frantic, grateful for the strength of his arm supporting her against him.

"James." His name, nothing more than a mewling plea. His nimble fingers stilled, and he pressed his palm tightly against her core.

"I'm here, Lola. But you still haven't answered me yet."

She was ready to give him anything he wanted if only he would keep touching her. His palm continued to cup her sex, and she arched into him with a little murmur of need, nodding her assent and feeling the crown of her head bump his chin.

She was rewarded in her capitulation as he rubbed his hand against her slick center one last time, slowly, until the edge of his fingers grazed along the sensitive bud at the top of her sex. At her moan of pleasure he circled the swollen nub with one thick, calloused finger, keeping the pace slow and even, the pressure slight. She panted, near frenzied for a deeper contact, need blinding her to anything else but the torturous flick of his clever, diabolical finger. She strained against his hold on her, hips writhing, chasing the rush of pleasure that he kept just out of reach.

* * *

><p>James was finding it difficult to maintain his restraint at the feel of his usually staid and stoic commander quivering in his arms, her moans filling the room and becoming louder, close to begging now. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his, his own shirt feeling as constrictive as a vise.<p>

His mind was filled with images of tugging her pants down the rest of the way, over her ass, and bending her over the desk just a few feet away from them. She was so damn slick, and his erection pulsed at the thought of burying himself in that wetness. He wanted to enter her, feel her quivering around his cock instead of his fingers. He wanted to sink himself so deep inside of her that she would know who she belonged to in that instant.

He had the distinct impression that she wouldn't have stopped him if he did just that, but a small part of him rebelled at the thought, the part of him that was giddy with the almost drugging euphoria of her submission in his arms.

This woman could beat him in sparring, both physical and verbal, had yet again stymied his attempts to get her to open up to him, distracting his emotional advances with her own sexual ones. He was man enough to admit she could probably even beat him at cards, if they would ever actually get to the point where they could finish an honest game.

But this was a different game now, and he was going to make sure she was the only one losing control.

_It's not Kaidan I want right now._

If he had his way, she would never want him again.

Or anyone else for that matter.

His fierce possessiveness almost frightened him with its intensity. She wasn't technically his, but the primal part of his male ego resented that assumption. Denied it with forceful conviction.

She was _his_.

He knew she would likely never admit to such a thing.

Maybe not tonight, but tonight was only the beginning.

Every time his desire threatened to overtake his senses, he forced himself to slow down. Again she resisted his hold on her, attempting to assert control over their pace. He stilled his fingers, tortured by her moan of protest, knowing it echoed his own incessant and demanding need. He dipped his head to kiss along her shoulder, smiling against her skin, enjoying the taste of her.

His fingers were wet with her arousal, and at the thought of tasting her there, he groaned. His attention immediately shifted back to her pants, pushing them, along with her underwear, down her upper thighs. He bent one knee to finish the task, teasing as he went, sweeping his palms over the toned, sleek muscles of her thighs, rubbing the pad of his thumb at the sensitive skin behind her knee. When he reached the floor, she lifted one foot at his silent pressure, then the other, freeing herself from the last of her clothing.

He stood up behind her, and clamped his arm around her again, resting his chin on her silky head. She shivered against him, and he instinctively responded to her warmth, his own desire flaring to an urgent demand. She was now naked in his arms, but he was fully clothed. Uncomfortably so, but he was not yet unhappy with his advantage.

She noticed the difference. "Isn't one of us overdressed for this game?" She was rubbing against him, trying to turn in his tight embrace.

He smiled to himself, a feral grin that might have frightened her if she had been able to see it. His hand moved down again, feeling her shudder against him as he teased his fingertip along the sensitive inner folds of her sex, clucking in disapproval against her ear. "Complaining already, little Lola?"

So she wanted his shirt off, did she? He could be generous.

He was already hardening to the point of pain, his body consumed by that unmerciful, relentless need, so savage that his skin burned with it. He was desperate for any sort of relief, his near brutal erection a heated threat that he might very well get beat at his own game.

But he was a consummate gambler, and risk, for him, was a familiar, insidious ally.

He gave her hot, moist center one last caress with his finger, and at her gasp of pleasure he released his hold on her. He had been half supporting her weight by that point, and she almost tripped at his sudden departure.

At the sight of her as she turned around, her beautiful hair tousled and messy, her eyes bright with desire, her lips wet and inviting where she had bit and licked them while he had touched her, he felt his hunger intensify, felt as if he might burst through his skin.

He quirked a brow in invitation, and she was on him instantly, her soft hands tugging up his shirt, and he was happy to comply, pulling her into his arms as soon as it was off. He reveled in the feel of her against him, the soft skin, her pebbled nipples, her hands roving up and down his back. She wasn't satisfied with just his shirt, she moved quickly to undo his belt and the fastenings on his pants, slipping a greedy hand down to tease his shaft, claiming him with the heated fire of her touch. He groaned, grinding himself into her hand as she cupped and squeezed him. His cock pulsed, spilled droplets into her touch. Her look was confident now, hazed by desire still, but her coy smile held a sort of brazen triumph.

She seemed to think she had regained some leverage, and perhaps she had, but he wasn't about to let her keep it.

* * *

><p>Shepard felt herself land on the bed with a bounce, shocked at how quickly James had picked her up and tossed her there. He joined her a moment later, after taking off his pants, and she blinked up at him with hunger as he crawled over her, not stopping until they were nose to nose, his knees straddling her hips, his expression blindly sensual. She barely had a chance to look at him before he was against her, but what she had seen had made her mouth go dry.<p>

Broad, heavily muscled shoulders tapered to the hard, narrower planes of his belly, elaborate tattoos tracing down one shoulder. He exuded power and strength. He looked like he had been forged out of iron, except he did not feel cold and metallic against her.

He was hard and he was heat.

Heavy and throbbing, everywhere, even the feel of his thick cock in her hands had hinted at power, and she shivered at the thought of it pulsing inside of her.

She wanted it, was about to beg for it, but before she could say a word his mouth was on hers again, and she moaned at the tender flick of his tongue. Her head fell back in pleasure as he trailed his lips down her chest, swirling his tongue against her, tasting her, so close now to the pink tips of her breasts.

She sucked in her breath in awareness of the pleasure to come, but nothing prepared her for the sharp bolt of sensation as he touched the tip of his tongue to tease the taut peak of her nipple.

He took his time with his mouth as he had with his hands, as if he could be content to simply lick her there, flicking and swirling until she felt she would go mad. She arched into his mouth with a muttered plea, clawing his scalp with her fingers, giving in to her need to beg.

"Please, James."

She felt his warm breath on her skin moments before his lips closed tightly around her nipple, drawing hard, sucking deeply. His groan of pleasure matched hers, although muffled and sending hot vibrations in its wake. She felt him shift his weight, felt one of his massive thighs settling between her knees, and she reveled at the feel of him. His hands, so firm and warm against her hips, moved to push her legs open even further, exposing her with only the slightest pressure.

_Yes. Please. There._

Had she thought it, or said it?

Perhaps she said it, begged it, as his mouth left her breasts to trace hot kisses down her belly, not stopping until he reached her core. She shivered at the feel of his rough cheek teasing her sensitive inner thigh. She almost dreaded what was to come, familiar now with his pattern of teasing and torment, dreaded it as much as she wanted to beg for it never to end. The shock of his warm, rough tongue on her swollen nub drove her mad; one light, sweet flick enough to make her feel like she was falling apart.

Her hands were twisted into the sheets now, and she was arching up into his mouth, wanting more contact than the slight, slow pressure. A low scream of pleasure caught in her throat when he finally gave her what she wanted, mouth now sucking, teeth nipping gently.

She stretched, seeking more. She could barely breathe, every nerve ending feeling alive, and the heat coiled and grew in her stomach. She heard helpless little cries and realized they were from her, realized that she was close to shattering, close to her release, and her cries became an insistent wail of frustration when he stopped.

She felt him moving up her torso again, and when she opened her eyes his smile was savage and possessive. His hand replaced his mouth, his thumb keeping her at the very edge of release as he drove into her tight passage, entering her in one, swift thrust.

She came apart then, at the feeling of fullness, at the feeling of herself stretching to accommodate his girth, one final squeeze of his fingers enough to send her tumbling over the edge. She could do nothing but ride out the exquisite wave of pleasure washing over her, her body racked by shudders as he guided her to completion.

As the incredible pleasure receded, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her with need, and an odd sort of tender affection. Her heart gave a funny little lurch at the sight of him, and the feel of him still within her, hard and deep. Her eyes swept over the corded, bulging muscles of his arms, betraying the cost of his patient control, and she knew that he was not finished with her yet.

* * *

><p>James could only stare down at her with awe and undisguised hunger. She was trembling beneath him, and he kept still within her, partly because he was enjoying the look of her as she found her release, laying there with her lips still parted from her cry of pleasure, and partly because he knew as soon as he started moving he wasn't going to last much longer.<p>

She was so damn tight, and wet, and when he began to move within her with sure, unhurried strokes, he saw the moment the spark of renewed desire entered her eyes. He penetrated deeply, but slowly, withdrawing lingeringly, prolonging their release as long as he was able. He aroused her until that need and want grew so great she was panting with it.

"James," she begged him in a whisper, and he shivered with awareness. How he loved the sound of her pleading his name.

"Say it again," he commanded.

And she did. His name became a litany on her lips, with each deep and deliberate stroke she confirmed that it was him giving her this pleasure.

She was _his_, now.

It made him feel powerful, it teased the heat building within him, burning between his legs with that hidden fire, radiating down his thighs and up into his belly. The steady rhythm of his strokes quickened in pace.

She rolled her own hips against him, clawing his back in unspoken demand, wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into the small of his back. She urged him on, and it soon became too much to resist. He quickened his pace to something needful and demanding, without a steady rhythm, driving into her with a kind of fury. She matched his aggression, seemed to revel in it.

She was close.

_His._

"Come on, Lola, give it to me. Don't hold back now." He grunted the words in sharp demand.

He was bucking into her with frantic force, ravenous, chasing his own release. He was about to touch her again when he felt her walls spasm around him, and she shuddered against him, crying his name one last time. It was all that was needed to trigger his own release, heat exploding along his nerves, the force of it tearing a satisfied and primal growl from the back of his throat.

Still shuddering with pleasure, he rolled, keeping his arms around her, and she curled into his embrace. She nuzzled under his chin until she found a comfortable position, and he smiled at her long, contented sigh.

He couldn't stop himself from teasing her as the pleasurable spasms began to fade.

"That was some dance, Lola."

"So, we're even now?" Her voice was a mumble, her mouth pressed against his chest.

"I dunno, do you feel sane enough yet?"

A naughty chuckle accompanied her response. "For now."

Her long legs were intertwined with his, her hands caressing the muscles of his back, and he was surprised to feel the stirrings of fresh desire. With a pang of regret, he started to move from her embrace, but she stopped him with a cry of protest.

"Don't leave."

"If I stay here tonight, we won't get much sleep. And we have a long day tomorrow."

She looked almost lost in that moment, her eyes wide with longing, and he found that he didn't have the heart to deny her. He leaned in towards her again, parting her lips with a deep, languorous kiss, before guiding one of her small, calloused hands down over his belly, curling her fingers around his already hardening shaft. He moaned into her mouth as she stroked him, no longer needing the pressure of his hands to guide her.

It was all the answer he needed for the warning he had given her.

Rannoch was tomorrow, and there was nothing they could do about now.


	20. Chapter 20

James awoke with a start, confused for a moment at his unfamiliar surroundings. The feel of a heated body next to him provided a calming reminder of where he was, and why. He smiled then, and stretched languidly, careful not to jar the woman sleeping next to him.

He shifted his position to look down at her. She was sprawled across her half of the bed on her belly, facing towards him. The sheets were tangled around her legs, one of which was raised and bent at the knee, meaning her lower half was partly facing him, teasing him with a glimpse of her toned belly.

At a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled snore, his gaze passed up the naked and deliciously exposed expanse of her back to rest on her face. Her hair was tousled and partially covering the cheek that faced him, while the other half of her face was snuggled into the mattress. Her pillow was nowhere to be seen, and he assumed it had lost some sort of fervent battle in the night, ending up discarded on the floor like an abandoned heat sink.

He couldn't help but marvel at her relaxed and rather uninhibited repose, her manner of sleeping such a jarring contrast to the calm, coolly efficient commander he knew her to be when awake. He hadn't really imagined her sleeping, only the delicious things that might happen in a bed before sleeping. But now that he was faced with it, he supposed that he would have expected her to sleep on her back, with her pillow and sheet in place, perfectly ordered and assembled like everything and everyone else around her.

A part of him wanted to let her continue sleeping, knowing that she needed it with what they had faced, and what they would be facing in their upcoming missions. But it was time for them to get up and start preparations, so with reluctance he gingerly reached forward with his hand to sweep her soft hair from her face. He hoped to wake her up gently, and he looked forward to seeing her sleepy, half-awake lucidity as she slowly stirred to awareness.

Except that she didn't awaken slowly.

As soon as his finger grazed the line of her forehead to trace down and over her cheek, she blinked her eyes open and quickly rolled over to sit up, pulling the sheets up over her bare chest.

"James. Morning."

She sent him a soft but curt smile of greeting, and James shook his head at his own foolish fantasy.

Of course she would awaken as a soldier, instantly alert and fully aware, like a cat.

And just like a cat, she rolled out of bed with feline grace, keeping the sheet wrapped around her lithe form as she moved to her bathroom without another word.

James was left on the bare bed, with nothing but one lone pillow, and his reflections of the previous night, to keep him company. She had taken command for their second round of lovemaking, and he found that he didn't have a complaint in the world about it. He loved her orders in the bedroom and followed them all willingly, and instantly, as he followed her on the battlefield.

Although he secretly admitted to himself that he enjoyed being told "Touch me while I ride you" much more than "Cover me while I take out that mech."

With a blissful smile at the memory, he rolled himself out of bed and found his boxers in the crumpled pile of clothes at the center of her room. By the time he was finished putting them on she had exited the bathroom, still wrapped in the sheet.

She looked, to his eyes, incredibly enticing and beguilingly disheveled.

And getting more aloof by the second.

"Feel free to use my bathroom and shower this morning, if you need to."

She passed by him with that comment, heading to her trunk, no doubt to begin her own morning routine, but he wasn't about to be so easily dismissed.

She was barely past him when he extended his foot to the length of sheet trailing her like the crumpled train of a gown, putting just enough weight down to catch the fabric and stop her forward momentum.

He watched as her body jerked to a halt in the soft snare. For a brief moment, James wondered if she would keep going and simply leave the sheet behind, and he found that he wouldn't have been unhappy with that particular option.

But she finally turned around, and she took her time meeting his intent gaze. He realized, suddenly, that she looked uneasy and more than a little flustered. He wondered if she was feeling embarrassed, or if she had any regrets, and he hesitated.

He certainly had none.

He reached out to her at the thought, pulling her into the curve of his arms and against the warmth of his chest.

"I'm sorry, Lola, but this is more how I imagined our good morning would go."

And with that, he bent his head and claimed her lips once more in a deep, drugging kiss.

When he finally broke the kiss and pulled back, after she had moaned and put her arms around his neck, he found that he was not unhappy with his handiwork. Her eyes were now half-lidded and a lazy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, her lips swollen from his kiss.

"Good morning, Lola."

Her smile grew to match his own as she relaxed into his embrace. "I could get used to this."

"Good. I was worried you might be having some regrets."

Her eyes widened considerably as she rushed to reassure him. "No. No, of course not. I've just got a lot on my mind. This is how I always am in the morning these days." She broke his gaze and shifted as if to push him away. "I don't suppose you'd care to talk more later?"

"I'm happy as long as there is a later."

She met his gaze again, stilling in his arms, this time with a smile that was more wistful than anything else. "I hear you on that one."

He reluctantly let her go, having no way of knowing that the next time he saw her, not much later, she would not be smiling at all.

* * *

><p>Shepard was not pleased. She was fighting a difficult combination of frustration at her two of her soldiers, and an odd sort of shameful confusion at how she had allowed such a situation to occur in the first place.<p>

She had gotten ready that morning just as any other morning. Well, not exactly the same, she thought to herself with a smirk. She had noticed a delicious, lingering soreness that wasn't usually present, and the reminders it had given her of her previous night with James meant that she was slightly more distracted than usual.

Despite her wandering mind, she had arrived at the crew deck fairly early, expecting to find the area predominantly vacant, but instead she had found both Kaidan and James in the process of grabbing their first rations of the day. James seemed his usual good-natured self, except there was a decidedly knowing gleam in his eye when he saw her approach.

Kaidan, on the other hand, did not seem his usual calm self, unless one counted the kind of calm that comes before a raging storm. He was pacing the length of the counter, as if we were waiting for someone with barely pent up anxiety.

Not someone, as it so happened, but_ her_, to be precise.

He immediately straightened when he saw her, and gave her a curt greeting through clenched teeth.

"Shepard. Can I talk to you?"

She nodded her assent, and noticed James turning towards them in her peripheral vision.

"My only mission with you since my return has been to Eden Prime. I request to go to Rannoch. You know what I can do. You also know what I might be doing if I had decided to accept Hackett's offer, which is more than just sitting around. I really don't like feeling useless here."

His gaze was intent and sincere, and she felt a shock of guilt at his words. She knew she didn't trust him as much as she had in the past, but she also knew he was a valuable asset. "You're not useless, Kaidan. My choices for mission rotation have nothing to do with that. If you want…"

"Lola, I'm just as capable of being an asset for the missions on Rannoch. I think I've proven myself enough." James' interruption shocked her into silence, and it was Kaidan who responded in a cutting, biting tone.

"Lieutenant Vega has proven himself very capable of ignoring rank and protocol."

Shepard crossed her arms over her chest and tried to get her roiling emotions under control as she faced the two strong and prideful men across from her.

One she had once loved, when she thought she knew what love was.

One she feared she might love now, when it was the worst possible time for her to be having these intrusive feelings she had been naïve to think she could control.

And both of them were now angry.

Neither was doing a very good job at hiding it, as they continued to argue their respective cases.

She felt herself slipping dangerously towards losing her cool as she worried that the situation would spiral out of her control. Her emotions were already in a tangle, and she didn't feel up to the task of dealing with this sort of turmoil.

She could face a reaper without a blink of hesitation, but this was something else. This had no rules of engagement that she could rely on.

She hadn't had many relationships with men, and close and enduring relationships were practically non-existent. Most of them had started rather fast, and often ended just as abruptly. And with her rather nomadic life she certainly hadn't ever had to deal with the aftermath of a relationship.

And now she had an aftermath of something, and a beginning of something else, and none of it was defined and nothing had prepared her to fix it and so many other things were on the line.

Quarians were dying just outside the Normandy.

_Everyone_ was dying, somewhere.

This is exactly what she had been afraid of. Exactly what she'd been warned about.

And it was exactly why regulations existed in the first place.

Emotions.

She was usually so good at keeping them separate from the job, but she had made a mess with these two, and now she had to find a way to clean it up, before the daggers they were throwing at each other through narrowed eyes became much less metaphorical.

James happened to glance in her direction, and he seemed to notice her distress. He stiffened, and stood silent for a moment, before startling her with his next words.

"Major Alenko is right, he is better suited to the mission, with his tech skills and his previous experience with Tali."

Kaidan looked as taken aback as she felt at James' admission, his jaw hanging open in surprise. He snapped it shut before he turned his own attention towards her.

He stared at her intently, and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Shepard. I shouldn't have pressured you. You know I am proud to be part of your crew, in whatever capacity. I will support whatever decisions you make. You've got tough ones, and this shouldn't be part of it."

She studied both men for a moment longer before responding, feeling a mix of pride in their willingness to bend, and again shame at herself, for bringing them both to this point.

"Legion, Tali and Garrus will be accompanying me on my missions to Rannoch today. It had already been decided."

Kaidan nodded his assent, but she grabbed his arm as he brushed past her to leave, speaking in a voice for his ears alone. "Thank you, Kaidan. I think we should talk when I return."

"I would like that, Shepard." He gazed into her eyes a long moment, before pulling from her grasp and leaving her alone with James.

He was leaning back against the counter now, with his arms crossed over his massive chest, in imitation of her own defensive pose. "You ask a lot, Lola."

The hint of a smile in his voice stripped away the shell of her tension. "Only what I know you can give, James," she spoke with sincerity, although she finished with teasing. "Don't feel left out. I'll let you clean my gun when I get back."

He chuckled at her saucy wink and tossed her a breakfast bar. "I look forward to it. From guard duty to gun duty. Aren't I the lucky soldier. Don't make me wait too long for later."


	21. Chapter 21

"Shepard-Commander. You have succeeded."

Legion's acknowledgement was a comforting sound as Shepard shook herself from the fog of the consensus. She gingerly stepped from the pod which had linked her to the geth in ways she had not thought possible.

The experience had opened her eyes.

She had always prided herself on her ability to see things from alternative points of view. It was a lesson ingrained in her from her militaristic father. He had staunchly refused to answer her relentless questions as a child about his experiences fighting in the First Contact war, and it was only after Elysium that she had gained her true understanding of his physical and emotional scars. Yet he had been equally as adamant about ensuring that his only daughter learned the lessons he seemed to think his own superiors had grossly neglected.

And so she had pored over the detailed intricacies of military history and diplomacy, studying the great battles and the great generals from both Earth and galaxy codices, with her father's unwavering insistence that she try to understand each battle and each decision from all sides, not just the side that told the story.

She had failed to see the geth as anything but the enemy, in her first encounters with them. She hadn't applied her father's lessons to them, because she hadn't thought she needed to. They weren't just any enemy, they were synthetics. But her experiences with Legion had changed her perception. And now her experiences with the consensus had changed it yet again, and her gaze met Legion's optic with newfound understanding.

The platform she had named Legion, which she had often enough thought of in terms of _he_ and _him_ in ways that might have made her superiors cringe in discomfort, had always been able to communicate in subtle ways that still managed to surprise her. When faced with her unrelenting stare, the shutters around his optic flared slightly in a gesture she instinctively read as questioning.

She was about to answer the question in his unspoken expression when movement in her peripheral vision caused her to turn, and she stiffened in shock at the sight that greeted her. She crushed her natural instinct to draw her weapon, knowing that it wouldn't even matter.

* * *

><p>Shepard had rarely found herself in close proximity to a Geth Prime. The few times she had, smoke and gun-blast and adrenaline and biotic energy had often blurred the rather intimidating effect the large platform made with its appearance.<p>

Finding herself surrounded by several dozen of the platforms had been harrowing. They were intimidating even after they had claimed to be allies. The knowledge that the Prime approaching her now, on the surface of Rannoch, was also an ally still did not prevent the ingrained thrill of momentary alarm. Followed quickly on the heels of that alarm was another rush of feeling.

Hope.

She squared her shoulders, refusing to look behind her but knowing that the crumpled platform she would always consider friend and ally, regardless of how insane that might make her in the eyes of humans and quarians alike, lay inert and motionless.

Legion had never been wrong in his calculations. The platform had provided her with unerring information and knowledge, and had saved her life more than once. She knew it was important to give her crew the same loyalty they bestowed upon her, and Legion was part of her crew. She was in the habit of trusting in the information he gave her. But emotions were a tricky business, and in this particular moment she couldn't help but doubt the truth of his last words.

_Direct personality dissemination is required. Shepard-Commander, I must go to them. I am…I'm sorry. It is the only way._

Legion had spoken the words mere moments before crumpling to the ground, and Shepard had felt a rush of grief at the sight of yet another sacrifice among so many in this grueling war. So when the Prime stood before her, she couldn't stop the question falling from her lips even though she knew in her heart that her hope was a false one.

"Legion?"

* * *

><p>James couldn't even pretend to be interested in the gun mods scattered on his workbench in disorderly heaps. His interest was held captive by the newly returned shuttle and its precious cargo.<p>

He knew she had survived her totally insane one on one battle with a Reaper, but the lump of terror that had lodged itself in his throat refused to dissipate. He hoped that the sight of her would finally relieve him of his worry, and so he observed her closely as she disembarked, flickering over the familiar pieces of her armor and checking for burns or dents or any other indications of injury. His gaze found nothing of immediate concern, and so shifted to her face, checking for indications of anything else. The crew had given over to the feeling of victory and celebration after receiving the news of what she had accomplished that day, but she didn't look very victorious to him.

She looked weary, and tired, and he was slightly surprised when her gaze shifted immediately to him in return, as if finding _him_ was her first priority upon re-entering the Normandy, even though he knew she needed to de-brief after her mission.

He was equally surprised when she sent him a wan smile and began a slow approach in his direction. His relief to see her alive washed away the terror and alarm he had previously felt, leaving in its wake a darker, more dangerous emotion.

Her eyes widened when she finally stood before him, as she saw his now thunderous expression.

"Soloing a Reaper, Shepard?" His voice echoed sharply in the cargo hold, and she flinched as if he had struck her.

"I did what I had to do. It was the only way." She looked wary and defensive now, instead of happy to see him. He felt instantly contrite, and rushed to reassure her.

"I know. You're right. I was...I was just worried. What I meant to say, was that you did a helluva thing."

Her eyes had softened, but her shoulders were still stiff. He made a quick decision that his pride could use the beating his body didn't get while sitting out the recent mission.

"I also meant to tell you, actually I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time, that I'm kind of an asshole. And an idiot."

"You are _not _an asshole." She did smile then, and she looked like she was about to continue, but her eyes shifted down and her brow furrowed. "What is _that_?"

He looked down at the gun in his hand. He had unconsciously used it to gesture to himself to emphasize his point regarding the idiot in the room, and the muzzle still rested softly against his chest. Now that he felt more relaxed he was able to see it through her eyes.

The Mattock assault rifle was a mess. The precision scope looked to be shimmied on backwards, which he hadn't even known was _possible_, and the piercing mod he had been working on was dangling limply to the side, likely due to his attempt to force fix it with a hand made heavy by worry and distraction. It was a stark reminder of where his mind had been.

So much for hoping she'd also claim he wasn't an idiot. He sent her his best sheepish grin.

She looked like she was trying not to laugh, but she wasn't doing a very good job. "I did say you could clean my gun, James, but I think I'll do the job myself. I don't want my baby anywhere near whatever you're workin' on."

He quickly turned and set the gun on the bench. When he was finished hiding his handiwork from her gaze, he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, and tried to keep his face stern.

"You know I do good work, Lola. Hand that baby over."

She shook her head. He could still see the concern and grief in her eyes, but she was at least smiling now, with that hint of playfulness he'd seen shining in her on rare occasions when she let down her guard. He reached for her and gave her arm a tug, pulling her into his embrace to welcome her back in the same fashion that he had told her good morning. She looked surprised, but she was worn out from a long day, and her reflexes weren't fast enough to counter his swift maneuver. He ignored the sight of Cortez turning towards them in his peripheral vision. His eyelids swept down to shut out the rest of the world, until there was only the feel and the taste of her.

He remembered the kiss they had shared after Tuchanka. She'd been in her armor and covered in the grime and scent of battle, but it hadn't mattered. As he felt her lips soften under the pressure of his mouth, her tongue darting out to lick over his lower lip, he knew it didn't matter in this moment either. The woman could probably wage a war in a sewage cistern and he'd still blissfully kiss her afterwards.

He could feel her armor scraping against his chest through the comparably whisper-thin fabric of his shirt. The hardened shell of separation only served to intensify the heated fervor of their connection, their lips the only point of skin-to-skin contact. He growled into her mouth in frustration, knowing his burgeoning desire would not be sated in their current location, and he tried to re-gain some of his control.

Her own answering moan didn't help, nor did the feel of her tongue sweeping into his mouth to graze against the edge of his teeth. She pressed herself more tightly to his chest, and his hand fell from her arm to sweep around her waist, until he was distracted by the feel of a protrusion of metal.

She looked flushed when he finally pulled away, but her soft, contented smile quickly fell from her face when she saw her gun in his hand.

"You sneak!" Her eyes were dancing despite the gasp of accusation in her tone.

He arched a brow and put his arm behind his back, keeping the gun out of her grasping hands, and tried to speak in as paternal a tone as he could manage. Which was exceedingly difficult with his arousal straining the seam of his pants.

"You should head up to your de-brief, Shepard. Hackett will want a full report. You don't want to keep your superior officer waiting."

She sent him a withering look that silently and effectively communicated just how amazingly he would be paying for his antics later, and started to turn from him. His previous pent-up worry and relief and a coil of other emotions made dangerous James feel like living on the edge, and before he could stop himself he gave her a playful swat on the rump to send her on her way.

She didn't look back, but he found he didn't really care in the least if he paid for that one later as well. He bit his lip to hide his smile, and sent a saucy salute to Cortez, who was trying to pretend not to look, and failing miserably, earning a laugh for his effort. He turned again to the workbench, sizing up the gun he had half-jokingly promised to clean with renewed interest.

* * *

><p>Shepard stood outside the door to the Observatory and tried to ignore the knot of tension in her back. A few years ago, such a victory over a Reaper would have brought a celebration high that might have lasted more than a shuttle ride back to the Normandy. Her mind flickered to her defeat of Sovereign in the Citadel. She'd suffered more injuries in that fight, a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, a few shattered ribs, but for some reason she still felt better after that battle than she did at the moment.<p>

She knew the war was getting to her, picking away the layers of strength and pride and confidence and leaving her weary and jaded. Defeating one Reaper didn't seem the same victory that it used to be, with so many others lined up to take its place. She tried to focus instead on their other victory that day. A cease-fire between the quarians and the geth. That was something to take pride in. Her father would have liked that one.

She squared her shoulders at his memory. She could just imagine him chastising her for her despondency. Her mother had always been the brilliant strategist, but it was her father who had been brilliant for people, encouraging them, inspiring them, keeping them on their toes. And now she had her own people, her wonderful crew and loyal companions, and it was her responsibility to keep them at their best, which meant making sure they only saw her unwavering confidence and support.

Starting now, with the one on the other side of the door. She entered to find Kaidan staring out at the stars. He did not turn at her arrival, and his words almost gave her the impression that he might have been speaking his thoughts to himself.

"It all seems so calm from here. There are people going through hell in a million different ways…out there. And I want to be fighting alongside them, but…I want to be here." He finally turned to face her, a questioning look on his brow. "You know?"

"Sure." She did know, but she also knew she couldn't fight all the battles at once. His initial comment made her wonder if he was thinking of people in general, or people in a more personal sense. "Thinking of anyone specific?"

"I heard from my mom, Shepard. My dad is MIA. He reported for active duty, and he's presumed..." He trailed off, his meaning clear. "It's all we know, but it's, uh…it's enough. My mom's alone in this now. In all…this."

The anguish she saw in his eyes reflected her own grief and loss. "I feel for you Kaidan, and I'm glad you told me. There's strength in camaraderie. And empathy."

He nodded and moved closer to her side. "Thanks. You're right. I don't know how you do it Shepard, keeping it all together like you do. Earth is always in the back of my mind, haunting me."

She almost saw herself in his eyes, as they stared deeply into her own, and she felt the latent challenge he was giving her. She decided not to fight it anymore. She couldn't pretend, not in front of him. Not after Ilos. He already knew she wasn't always all together.

"It haunts me too. I've been having nightmares. I'm chasing a little boy through the darkness, and when I see his face...I watched him die, Kaidan, and I couldn't save him. So many that I can't save, and yeah, it haunts me."

His brows shot up at her soft confession. "I'd tell you that you don't have to take this all by yourself, but I think we've already had that talk."

"You were right the first time. I'm trying to find my own sanity-checks, here and there, that must count for something."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You found someone to lean on a little. It wasn't the someone I had in mind, but…" He stopped again and trailed a hand through his hair, before continuing in a fiercer tone. "Look, Shepard, I just want you to know that if you manage to find some sliver of happiness in this shitstorm, I think you should grab onto it and never let go. Even if it's not with the someone I had in mind."

Her own mind jumped at his abrupt change of course in their conversation, and his language. He was usually so proper in his speech. She found herself bereft of speech herself, as he continued.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I loved you in the middle of our own little shitstorm and I never told you. And then you died. And then there was…all this. Sometimes I think things just weren't meant to be. And maybe I was a fool to think otherwise."

She was about to interrupt him, but he silenced her with a look that allowed for no argument.

"Shepard, don't make the same mistakes I did. Joker likes to mock me for being uptight, but he has a point. I held things back. I locked myself up. And I lost something important because of that. Don't keep what you feel with Vega all bottled up inside. You'll only be filled up with regrets later."

He had paced in front of the window during his impassioned speech, but he stopped and met her eyes again at her indrawn, surprised breath. "Don't look so surprised that I know. I'm not blind, and this is a small ship. And maybe I know you a little better than you think. The point is, don't let yourself lose out on what you've found."

Shepard felt stunned. There was a freeing kind of relief in her chest, and a lump of another emotion entirely, stuck in the back of her throat. She knew that her concerns as commander were only part of her reasons for holding back the feelings she'd long suspected she held for James. But guilt was holding her back as well, stemming from her short-lived relationship with Kaidan, and all that they had endured from that moment forward.

Most of it was out of her control, but she couldn't help but feel at fault. Men who got involved with her got hurt, whether she meant it or not, and the evidence of that fact was standing not two feet from her, with the forgiveness and understanding in his eyes that she had longed for since Horizon.

"I'm sorry, Kaidan, for everything. And...thank you. In so many ways I would never have gotten this far without you. We've got some tough battles to go, and I'm glad to know you're at my back."

"Don't worry about me, Shepard. You know, when this war's over, there's going to be one hell of a celebration. My mom's always wanted to travel off-planet. I think I'll take her."

"I think she'd like that."

He smiled at her response, and turned from her to look out again at the vast, calming expanse of stars. His last comment called out to her as she departed.

"Don't tell Joker I said he was right about me. I'll never hear the end of it."


	22. Chapter 22

_Who's like us?_

_Damn few, and they're all dead._

James had given the salute often enough, with his brothers and sisters in arms. The toast to the valiantly dead was a swaggering but effective reminder of past and future sacrifice, each use of it filling Alliance soldiers with equal parts prideful bravado and just enough sobering resignation to bring about another round of drinks.

Most anyone who imbued the toast with any real meaning often enough had someone specific in mind when they gave their salute, and James had always hoped that his own death would make him worthy enough to be included in the memory of someone's gesture. Although he also reassured himself he would be satisfied with the faceless, nameless kind of non-recognition that soldiers often gave, once enough drinking had taken them past contemplative resignation to the simple bliss of drunken bravado.

But it wasn't the salute that passed through James' mind during the moment he thought he was going to die. It was memory. Searing memory that flickered in his wavering consciousness with a speed that might have made him dizzy, if he wasn't already dazed and staggering from the recent and too close explosion that had dropped him to his knees in the ash and dust that seemed to be all that remained of his own planet.

He'd heard the saying before, of course, that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. And so it wasn't his brief assessment of his injuries that made him concerned, although the amount of shrapnel dug into the arm that was now hanging useless at his side did give him a moment's pause, as did the unseen head wound that dripped blood over his eyes and fogged his physical vision. What made him assume he was going to die was the deluge of recent memories that came rushing back in a tidal wave of quickly changing imagery, and it didn't surprise him in the least that they seemed to center around _her._

He had cleaned Shepard's gun. He remembered that clearly enough. It might seem an out-of-place moment to focus on, when one is at the point of death, but it was very memorable for him mostly due to what had come after he had returned the gun. The passionate night they had shared together, now _that_ was a memory that could do his final death throes justice.

She had been so different that night. She had opened up to him in ways he had always secretly desired. She'd confided in him about her nightmares, and so he had shared his own. They had both re-shared previously told stories of their experiences as soldiers, but this time with an openness of detail that had been lacking the first time around. Then she had almost shyly confessed that before her nightmares had started, she had had some dreams about _him_, and she had giggled at the look that had eclipsed his face. He had been dying to ask her why she was so open all of a sudden, but the drugging combination of the conversation and the whiskey had distracted him. The giggling hadn't helped his resolve either. Nor had the bed, where they had ended up.

They had woken up the next morning with news from the Asari, and then all hell had broken loose.

Well, considering recent events, it had broken looser.

They had gone to Thessia. He had been at Shepard's side again, exactly where he felt he belonged. The planet had been devastated in a way that reminded him hauntingly of Earth, and he saw a bit of himself in Liara's reaction to being confronted with the crumbling remains of her home planet. It had been a sharp and devastating reminder of all that was at stake.

As if the hell of that planet hadn't been enough to endure with the Reapers as their enemy, Cerberus had arrived on the scene, with Kai Leng at their vanguard. He had arrived and left again with the damn data they had sacrificed so much to find. It had hit them all hard, but Shepard most of all. He had never seen her look so defeated. He couldn't say he blamed her. The Crucible had been their last and only hope. Without the necessary information regarding the use of the Catalyst, there had been nothing left. She had been more closed off than ever from that point forward, completely focused on finding Leng, finding Cerberus, and finding the data.

And so they had. James hadn't really doubted the ability of his commander to succeed, not after everything else he had witnessed at her side, but she hadn't reacted to his reassuring words of encouragement, except for a nod and a smile that never really reached her beautiful eyes. Those eyes that haunted him still, and so he supposed it was fitting that they formed the centerpiece of his recent rush of memory, flickering rapidly through his battered mind in flashes of green and emotion.

Her eyes blank and detached, when she had turned to him after watching the fuzzy feedback of the Cerberus footage, after seeing the remains of herself lain out on a table like the scientific experiment that she had been.

Her eyes fierce with righteous fury the moment she killed Leng, then filled with dawning horror at the revelation of exactly what, and where, the Catalyst was.

Her eyes aching with tenderness and words left unspoken in their last stolen moments, their feet again planted on the familiar soil of Earth.

He had wanted to tell her that he loved her, in that moment. He had felt the words welling up in the back of his throat, but they had gotten stuck at the sight of the worry and distraction etched onto the planes of her face. It just hadn't felt right. Now that he was kneeling in the dust, he wished he had told her anyway, even if it would have topped the list of the Least Romantic Locations in the long history of man fumbling to confess his heart.

He was pretty certain he had showed her, but the regret of never saying the words aloud seared him worse than his current physical injuries. He wanted to see her again and tell her she _was_ his world, instead of the lame conversation they had shared about saving the world. And he wanted, more than anything, to see an answering emotion reflected in the clear depths of her eyes.

Her eyes that had been so full of conviction as she had turned away from him for the last time, after they had made their final push to the beacon that would lead them to the Citadel. But it had not been the conviction of success and survival. It had been the type of conviction that stemmed from a dangerous type of realization that the devil had come to claim his long and oft desired due.

He had recognized it well, and the awareness had chilled him. Distracted him for a fatal moment from his purpose as he had watched her advance through the seemingly never ending waves of enemies, until she had disappeared from his sight.

He had barely felt the blast that had hit him then, and he had been numb for a moment to the crumbling loss that surrounded him, voices a dulling echo coming from unseen sources. Hands gripped him suddenly and pulled him to his feet and out of his focus on the past. Garrus and Kaidan flanked either side of him now, and they struggled to half-drag his heavy form from the spot where he had fallen. He instinctively tried to help them by focusing his latent energy on getting his legs to move again, until their recent comments about getting to the extraction point penetrated the fog of his mind, and then only one thought consumed him.

He must not leave without her.

And then his world narrowed to whatever would help him in this newfound goal. His world narrowed to the feel of the their grip on his arms and his feet skittering wildly in the ash and dirt beneath his boots, trying to find purchase with his heels to use as leverage against their combined strength. He managed to tear one arm free, but the force of the pull and his momentum only caused him to stumble to one knee. He braced his body, muscles going taut, and desperately tried to free his other arm, but Garrus was on him again too quickly.

The major's voice was a tangled mess of anger and frustration as they dragged him to his feet again. "We need to move, lieutenant. _Now_. Stop fighting us."

His breathing shattered, and he felt a renewed dizziness from his struggles, blood from the wound on his forehead dripping down over his brow to blur his vision completely. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and spoke through gritted teeth, his voice betraying the agony that was tearing him apart.

"No. Leave me. I'm not going."

Garrus tried to get a better grip on his arm, causing a streak of pain that almost brought him to his knees again. The major's face was twisted into a broken snarl, but his eyes hinted at his own emotional turmoil.

"You think I don't know what you're feeling, lieutenant? You think I don't know what it's like to leave when someone you love stays behind? We have _orders_."

Rage consumed him, and made him dangerous. No other consequences mattered to him in that moment. He spoke in panted gasps, but his fury was clear to any who could hear the words. "Fuck you. I'm not like you, asshole. I am not leaving her. Fucking let me go."

The anguish he saw in the major's eyes shocked him into silence, but then his arm was twisted further, whether by accident of the struggle or on purpose he did not know. The pain was almost blinding now, his head wound not helping his ability to resist the sickening pull of the darkness he already felt seeping into the edge of his vision. He felt the rush of panic, devastating, at the realization of what was coming.

_No. _

_Please, no._

He tried to fight it, no longer struggling against their hold on him, not able to fight all three enemies at once. But it was to no avail. He felt them dragging his form to the extraction point as his vision blurred completely, spots of white dancing across his eyes moments before the darkness of unconsciousness consumed him.


	23. Chapter 23

Dr. Edward T. Wilson had, until recently, worked at his very successful private practice in a med clinic just outside London. He had the confidence of an educated man who had no doubt that he was a very accomplished, and very experienced, medical doctor. However, to say that he was not a military person would have been the grossest understatement of mankind since the First Contact War. He had absolutely no military experience to his name. He didn't even have any friends, not even a single acquaintance that he could name, who served in the Alliance.

It was not, therefore, his choice to be a medic in the midst of a battle, but the war with the Reapers had taken away his choice, and even the illusions of it.

The war had taken away choice for a lot of people.

In his last few months working at his new post as an Alliance medic, he had seen more horrors than he had thought possible for the human mind to endure. He had, to a certain extent, become numb to the endless array of the injured and dying. Or at the very least he made every conscious effort to distance his battered emotions.

Not much was able to shock him anymore in the continuing, relentless struggle.

The large reaper machines had been circling their camp for days, getting ever closer on their destructive paths. He had gotten accustomed to working in the shadow of their looming threat, and he had got accustomed to picking up the shattered pieces of their broken little camp in the dark of night, and moving through the crumbling remains of the city to a more secure location. It had happened so many times that it became a rhythm of his work. Cut, sew, re-align, clean up the blood, pack up my things. On the good days, he got to do those things in that order. The good days were getting rarer, but it was all that was left of his world. The strange had become familiar, and it was never-ending. Sometimes he found himself wondering if he was already dead, and this was his personal little hell, his own personal little punishment for not being able to save his own family.

Yet things had somehow become strange and surprising again, ever since the odd pulse of light and energy had permeated the atmosphere. Official word had not reached their outpost and he'd been working on patients, as usual, and so he had only heard snippets of rumor. The Reapers had fallen. Or exploded. Or disintegrated. Or imploded. There were several different versions cluttering his ears. No one could yet say for certain what they had won, or if they had won anything. All he could be certain of at the moment was that the large machines that had previously been in the distance like some macabre, moving cityscape were now gone.

And injured soldiers were arriving in droves.

Having been urgently called to attend to an emergency patient in one of the temporary medical stations set up around the camp, he found himself caught briefly by surprise again at the sight that awaited him. A huge soldier stood in the center of the make-shift room, holding in his arms another soldier, a woman by the looks of her smaller frame.

The doctor watched with barely concealed astonishment as the massive soldier tried to put the injured woman on the medical table, and failed. Twice now he had bent over to set her down, but each time he had straightened again, the woman remained in his arms, tucked tenderly against his chest.

Taking pity on the man, he quickly moved forward, wanting to do an immediate assessment of their injuries. Stepping to the man's side, he cleared his throat to get his attention. The man turned to face him, and he was surprised at the tortured anguish reflected in the depths of his eyes. His own practiced gaze flickered over the soldier, taking in what looked to be a fractured cheek and a large still-bleeding cut on the forehead, among other less serious scrapes and burns. His arm seemed to have taken the most damage, and the doctor was fairly shocked that the soldier, despite his hulking frame, was able to hold anything at all, much less the weight of a woman.

His quick assessment then shifted to the woman, and he noted that she had fared much worse, and demanded his immediate attention.

He spoke, using a tone he had perfected after decades of experience, his voice full of a practiced flair for no-nonsense that he usually reserved for unruly and problematic patients. "Set her down, son. We'll take care of it. You need some attention as well."

The man seemed to snap out of whatever fog had overtaken his senses, and he nodded in response, before finally, and carefully, settling the woman down.

He heard his assistant enter the room and usher the male soldier to a separate table on the far wall. He barked out an order for his assistant to get as much information from the conscious soldier as possible, and then focused his attention solely on the woman, working quickly to remove the remainder of her charred and broken armor. So caught up was he in the sole task of saving her, that he did not notice the ripped and burnt playing card that fluttered slowly to the ground, finding its final resting place nestled in the dirt underneath his feet.


	24. Chapter 24

Shepard's mind was a disorienting fog, recent imagery flashing through her head in a confusing blend of memory and feeling.

The Illusive Man. He had been there, standing in front of her, and he had tried to stop her. She didn't even know how he'd gotten there. Didn't much care, at the time. Control the reapers, he'd argued, out of his mind with panic and sickened conviction. She'd long suspected that he wasn't quite right, but she'd never seen him like that before, spewing slurred nonsense without his carefully practiced veneer of rationality.

She had been in so much pain at the time, she almost thought she had dreamed him up. Anderson too.

_You did good, child._

Anderson, who had always been there when she needed him most, like a second father, trusting in her when no one else would. Defending her stance against Saren. Helping her get the Normandy for Ilos. Testifying on her behalf during her trial.

There were times when she felt she might not have been able to make the tough choices if not for the knowledge that his stalwart support would be there to buffer her at the outcome.

He had been there for her through it all, and he had been there with her at the end. But she hadn't been able to save him. The thought choked her, blurred her memory with feelings of guilt. Millions had died for her to get to that point. Millions hung in the balance. And she'd had to make the most difficult choice of her life, with no one to catch her if she decided wrong.

Failure.

It had stared her down, condemned her, through the ghostly, illuminated eyes of the boy child that had haunted her nightmares.

But it had not been a boy, not then. It was _them_. Or whatever had created them. She had asked, but its answer had only made her angry.

_By ones who recognized that conflict will always arise between synthetics and organics. I was first created to oversee the relations between synthetic and organic life…to establish a connection. But our efforts always ended in conflict, so a new solution was required._

It had been so much smoke and mirrors clouding her judgment like the pain that had thrummed through her limbs. It had to be wrong, she thought at the time. An entire galaxy to save, and she'd been told that some _other_ species from some other cycle made stupid bullshit mistakes and now _her _world was paying the price. Because _they _couldn't find a better solution.

But_ she_ had. Hadn't she? It had told her so. That thing that was not a child.

_You have altered the variables._

_You did good, child._

Had she?

She found herself blinking away real tears, her lashes fluttering open to the lure of conscious awareness as the swirl of memory faded to the background, giving her a brief respite from her horrible replay of those moments. Lights flickered above her, and she felt one tear slip from the corner of her eye. It dripped a hot trail down the side of her face to rest at her temple.

It tickled. Itched. She tried to reach up a hand to wipe it away, and only then did she become aware of the pain re-flooding her body like a searing brand.

She couldn't seem to get her arm to move. And then there was a shadow looming in her vision, blocking the obtrusive light burning her sensitive eyes. She felt the pull of the darkness, heard voices speaking in low tones. But they seemed so far away.

She was drifting again, her earlier questions becoming a damning shard piercing whatever was left of her consciousness.

Had she? Had she really done good? Or perhaps this was the feeling of failure, of choosing wrong. So many series of choices she had made, and they all led up to that final one. The one that mattered.

No. They all had mattered. That was the _point_. She had proven that damn Reaper collective conscious wrong. It had said there would always be destruction and chaos between synthetics and organics.

_Your children will create synthetics, and then the chaos will come back_.

No.

They would rebuild everything. Synthetic life too. And this time they would find peace. She had proven that it was possible. Whatever civilization that had decided otherwise, _they_ were the failure. It was _their_ solution that was no longer viable. The variables _had_ changed. Her cycle had learned, adapted, worked together. And they would do it again. She would show them, like she always had. She had staked her entire career on this one hope, and she would be damned if she gave it up now.

They would not rely on the old knowledge. The knowledge that had failed. They would rely on their own knowledge. Recent. From _this_ cycle. And it would work. They had a better solution. That…that _thing_ had confirmed it.

_Clearly organics are more resourceful than we realized._

She felt a brief burst of pride at what they had accomplished, and for a short time it cornered her grief and anguish until there was nothing but darkness to replace it.

* * *

><p>Voices in the distance cut through the fog and the pain returned, this time a throbbing ache instead of blistering agony.<p>

How long had she been lying here, not moving, lost in the darkness?

Was she a prisoner again?

Maybe she had chosen wrong. Maybe she hadn't done good. She breathed deep, ignoring the pain, clamoring back to consciousness. She must find out.

"Did it work?" A voice. It was her thoughts, for sure, but the voice she did not recognize. Dry, raspy. Pained and plaintive.

The shadow hovering at her side made a funny sound. Like a bark. Or a choke. A sharp sound that was quickly muffled. Laughter? It _was_ laughter. She turned her head and blinked.

And blinked again. Her vision started to clear, and the features of the shadow were brought into sharp relief.

_James._

"Lola. I thought I'd lost you." He looked exhausted. And relieved. And pained. A swath of white over his forehead indicated an injury still healing.

She wanted to ask him how he got it, concern washing through her, but the other question was still important, so she repeated it. "Did it work?"

He smiled, and he leaned forward to speak in a soft voice, as if it were a secret. Or as if he were in pain. "If by working you mean the Crucible discharged some energy source that the science team are still dancing around like pijaks to figure out, which ultimately disintegrated the Reapers, then uh, yeah, I'd say it worked."

She felt relief. The Reapers were gone. That was the first step. "Everything was such a blur at the end. I…I passed out. Where am I? How…how did I get here?"

"You're at a temporary Alliance headquarters just outside London. We recovered you from the beacon site, not too far from here, actually. You were pretty beat up. Only you can tell us how you got back there."

An explosion from initiating the crucible had thrown her down. She remembered crawling, trying to get back to the point where she had entered. Crawling, and darkness. And pain she thought would never end. She didn't want to remember it. Not now.

She was more curious about what James had to say. "We?"

"Yeah, Garrus and Kaidan and myself. We were heading to the extraction point once we got the message that you had made it through to the beacon. The place was swamped with hostiles. I…I didn't want to go.

She sighed with understanding, closing her eyes against the bright light of the room. "So you disobeyed orders."

"Uh, not exactly." He sounded hesitant to speak so she opened her eyes again. She wanted to raise a questioning brow but she wasn't sure she could manage it. He sat there looking sheepish and so she stared at him until he continued. "I might have been a little bit unconscious at the time. It was….well honestly it was the major who made the decision to find high ground and hold out. We…we almost didn't make it. But then that red light just…"

He trailed off when she jerked her head upright, and immediately wished she hadn't, when the pain came flooding back in unrelenting waves.

"_Kaidan_ disobeyed an order?" She tried to hide her wince, but her voice sounded shrill even to herself.

His eyes were sympathetic as he gently pushed her back against the bed, but there was laughter in his tone as he spoke. "Yeah well, you know how it is with Spectres. They do some crazy shit. Like take naps right when the battle is won."

She glared, not sure she was in the mood for teasing. He was starting to sound downright chipper and it was almost annoying. "Hey, didn't you say something about being unconscious at the end?"

He sat there next to her bed, his face so close she could see the flecks of color glinting in his irises, the greens and browns mixing to a deep hazel. He did not seem to be at all irritated by her quip, just sat there smiling, without even a hint of shame. She tried to scowl him into submission but the smile just got bigger, and it tugged at her.

She knew she was on drugs and her emotions were a riotous and confusing mess, but at the moment that damn beaming smile was oddly…infectious.

She laughed. It was a small choke of laughter, more like a sputter and it hurt like hell. But still she laughed, and it was the first time she had felt good since their shared night after Rannoch. "What a pair we make, huh?"

He was looking deep into her eyes when she said it, and she saw the seriousness replace the humor as he nodded his response. She wanted to talk with him further, but her brief moments of conversation and laughter must have drained her. She felt weak again, the pull of sleep drugging her mind.

James noticed, and she felt his warm hand squeezing her fingers. "Get some rest, Lola."

She still had so many questions. And so much left to say. She would tell him. When she woke up she would tell him.

There was so, so much she had to tell him.

* * *

><p>James sighed and leaned back in his chair. She had slipped again into a fitful sleep. The sleep called to him as well, but he had fought off its incessant pull for days, only giving in for a few hours at a time. But even then it was a restless, nightmare filled slumber.<p>

His chin was just hitting his chest when he heard the door open and he snapped upright again. He turned to see Kaidan Alenko standing in the doorway, looking every inch the Alliance Major and Citadel Spectre.

He stood up abruptly and ignored the pain sluicing down his arm as he snapped a sharp salute. "Major."

To his consternation, the major didn't look very impressed with his effort. "Not Major Asshole, Lieutenant?"

James felt himself flush. He had wondered when this discussion was coming. He had seen Alenko since that fateful day, but only in passing and only in the presence of others. Shepard's room, full of various members of her Normandy crew, all wanting to reassure themselves that she was, indeed, alive after the ship had returned again to earth from the rendezvous point. The winding, half crumbling halls of the London building where they had set up temporary head-quarters. They had exchanged glances on each occasion, but never words. There had been too much to do.

Humanity was still scrambling to figure out exactly what had happened. To figure out what was left of life in the smoking remains of the galaxy. Rescue operations. Recon. Settling skirmishes in the Terminus. The pie was so much smaller now and everyone wanted whatever pieces were left. Mercs were causing trouble. Major Alenko, the only human Spectre currently in commission, had been given many responsibilities. One horrible moment of disrespecting a superior just hadn't been important to address.

Or so James had assumed. Though now it seemed it was time to pay the piper. He only wished Alenko didn't look so damn amused about it.

"No, sir." He held his salute, despite the screaming pain in his arm, his fingertips brushing against the bandage on his forehead.

Alenko took pity on him. "Sit down, Vega, before you fall down. I'm not here about that. Not after what happened."

There was shared understanding in his eyes as Alenko moved to stand at Shepard's bedside, and he stared down at her for a long moment before finally speaking. "We've got so much left to do. The galaxy still needs her."

"The galaxy can damn well take a number." He couldn't stop the scorn in his voice for a million credits. He was surprised when Alenko agreed.

"She's been asked a lot. And she has answered. The galaxy needs people like you too, Vega. So does the Alliance. I'm putting together a team to settle…ah, some additional diplomatic concerns with the Batarians. I've heard good reports of your previous work in the system. You still want to continue your N7 training?"

James blinked. The way Alenko had said "diplomatic concerns" had made him shiver. N7 operatives didn't really often figure into situations of high diplomacy. But Alenko was right. There _was_ a lot left to do. And he still wanted to fight.

He had once told Shepard it was the only thing he was ever really good at.

* * *

><p>Shepard stepped off the elevator and stood for a moment outside the door to her cabin. She was back on the Normandy again.<p>

Her ship.

She'd been offered some time to herself once she had been medically cleared, but she'd seen in Hackett's eyes the concern and desperation he was trying to hide. The Reapers were gone, but the echoes of the massive war were still rippling across the galaxy. Humanity was attempting to be at the forefront of the new order and the re-establishment of the Citadel Council. Commander Shepard was a name that carried weight.

And hope and reassurance and comfort. And a constant, unwavering reminder that joint efforts among all worlds could succeed when nothing else seemed possible.

She sighed, leaning her forehead against the door. A part of her was tired of being the galaxy's shining star. But during the long weeks spent in that recovery bed, she'd almost felt numb once realization and emptiness had set in. For so many years the answer to her internal 'what now' had been agonizingly, resoundingly clear. And for the first time she could remember, she didn't have an answer to her what nows.

So much of her life had been dedicated to the Reaper threat. She had given her life for it, and she had never really thought much about what she would do when it was over.

She didn't have a home to return to. She'd never really had one. She'd had ships and she'd had jobs. This was a trait she had received from her mother, who was already busy again with her admiralty duties after a brief visit with her daughter.

And so, when she had been faced with Hackett's offer of the Normandy and a crew and primarily diplomatic missions of her choice, with Spectre privileges no less, she had squashed the tiny part of her that had wanted to give it all up and had given him the affirmative.

Joker had been ecstatic, as she knew he would be. They were alike, in so many ways, and had been through so much together. The ship was as much his as it was hers. Chakwas and Cortez had agreed, and for the same reasons. Javik had looked relieved, and almost happy at her offer of additional work. There was much of the galaxy that he wanted to see. Liara had stated a desire to return to Thessia sometime in the future, but there was a reluctance in her eyes, as if she were afraid to face what her planet had become. For now she thought she could best help her devastated home in her role as Shadow Broker, a familiar job that she, too, was yet unwilling to give up.

Kaidan had shared a heartfelt goodbye. She had seen a different man in his eyes. A man confident and sure. He had his own command now, had worked tirelessly during the time she had been bed-ridden. He had accepted an offer for a brief respite, after being re-united with his mother, and was helping her re-build before taking her off planet for a journey of their own.

And then there was Garrus and Tali. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of them and their burgeoning relationship. They were hesitant about their new beginnings, and where to put down roots, and how they could manage to stay together with the demands and duties of their respective home-worlds. And so like Liara they had opted for the familiar method of helping the galaxy as a whole, together, at least for the moment.

And so here they all were again, more family to each other despite their differences, hearts still drifting in search of something more permanent. She hoped they would all find it eventually. If Jack and Wrex and Jacob could find it, she knew the rest of them could as well. For the first time since being in recovery, she felt the stirrings of warmth in her heart.

Her ship, her rag tag family, and her work.

It certainly couldn't last forever, but for now, it was enough.

Almost enough.

She entered her cabin filled with thoughts of one soldier in particular. The soldier who had sat at her side during her long recovery, stunting his own in the process, despite her pleas for him to get some rest. During her increasing moments of consciousness, they had shared the familiar camaraderie that had bonded them since their first meeting. But once she had been given the clearance to leave her bed, she had not spoken with him since her decision to reclaim the Normandy just a few days previous.

She told herself she'd been busy with other preparations but really she'd been trying to work out what to say and how to say it.

She sat on the bed with a sigh. Her fish were still alive, that was something. Her models were all in place. She stood up in concern when she realized her hamster was missing again, but was instantly distracted when her cabin door opened.

And then he was there, filling up the space between the door and sucking all available air from the room.

She let out her breath in a rush and reminded herself to inhale again.

He was the same, and oh so familiar now. The breadth of his shoulders was emphasized by his tight alliance tee, his strong arms, corded with muscles, holding a paper box in front of the belly she knew was as hard as the rest of him. But he was different too. There was a new scar puckering across his forehead and plunging into his hairline, at his temple. A network of additional scars crisscrossed down his arm, almost in mockery of the tattoo she knew graced his other arm. And like Kaidan, his eyes told the story of their struggles and loss. They looked at her from across the room, really looked at her, and they were tired and warm and knowing and wary.

It was a heady combination, and she found her heart fluttering with a nervousness she wasn't accustomed to feeling, except in his presence. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to the punch.

"Leaving so soon, Lola?" He sounded accusatory, and she felt herself treading carefully in unfamiliar waters.

"No, there are still preparations to make."

"Were you planning on saying good-bye?" He bit out the words.

Her eyes widened. Did he think she didn't want him? Or maybe he already had other plans. She'd been told she could have her choice of team members, but it hadn't occurred to her that the Alliance might give her own top choice a better offer. Her heart raced and a trickle of fear spread down her spine. "Do I need to say good-bye?"

That was the wrong choice of words. His brow furrowed as a thunderous expression shadowed his face and he stalked down the steps towards her.

"What the hell kinda question is that? I thought I meant something to you. You can't deny it. You can try, but not so long ago that Prothean with the fifty thousand year old superiority complex seemed to be under the impression that all you could think about was me."

He was almost in front of her now. She breathed in sharply. "Javik told you that?"

"Yeah, and he was not happy about it. Are you going to deny it?"

She shook her head, a barest movement, barely noticeable. He was so close now. The relief and emotion rushing through her system had made her unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

"Are you going to do something about it?" She winced at the desperation that had threaded its way into his voice.

She knew she had to speak, but she felt panicked and all the words came out in a rush. "I lost your lucky card. I'm so sorry. I know how important it was to you and I know it was the last thing you had left as a reminder of your mother."

"The card? Do you think I care about the damn card right now?" He looked lost, and she rushed to explain.

"No. But it was a symbol. Of how I was never alone. Of how much you meant to me. You're right, James, I can't deny it. I kept that card with me always, as a reminder of how you made me feel. The strength that you gave me, without even knowing. I should have told you. I just…well it wasn't something we could really talk about, at the time. Or so I thought. Maybe I was wrong."

The words were still all jumbled but the look on his face somehow made up for it. He was smiling, a crooked half smile full of tenderness and amusement. "This is what I get. You know there's a saying about never falling in love during a total eclipse? But no one ever said anything about falling in love when the world is falling apart. I don't think there's a way to do it right."

"What?" She felt breathless now. Weightless. He hadn't really said the words. But he had. Sort of.

"I love you, Lola. Look, are you going to take me with you or what? I have your hamster."

He said the words with the same level of conviction as if he had made an argument based on his expert ratings in marksmanship. He was holding out the box but she still couldn't focus on anything except his face and the swift thump of her heart against her ribcage. He had taken care of her hamster. She had forgotten about her little pet during the messy aftermath of the war but he had not forgotten. And he loved her, as she loved him. She had waited too long to tell him. It felt like forever. Like she had loved him forever. It was a brave new world now, and she would be damned if she lived it without him at her side.

"I love you. Come with me. I don't know where we're going yet, but I know I don't want to go anywhere without you."

He moved to set the box on her table and then turned to reach for her. His smile had broadened, but his eyes were serious and full of intent.

"I thought you'd never ask. It's not the end of the world anymore, you know, but this still isn't gonna be easy."

"I think we can manage."

He gently pulled her forward into the curve of his arms to claim her mouth with his own. It felt so good, she could barely focus on his teasing, softly spoken words against her lips.

"As long as you promise not to punish me for insubordination when I beat you at poker."

She smiled and nodded. "I promise I won't ever let you beat me at poker."

He picked her up in his arms, her feet dangling off the floor, laughing into the curve of her neck, and she was again amazed at his strength, and how easily he could soothe her cares away. He pulled back to look at her again, as he let her slide down his body until her toes hit the floor. She saw the moment the laughter left his face and desire rose up to replace it.

He grinned wickedly as he lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "There's one game we both can win."

She sighed with contentment as he kissed her again, his deft hands already tugging up her shirt and caressing the soft skin around her waist. She felt the bed at the back of her knees, and couldn't resist a giggle as he pushed her down upon it. He joined her, and as she gazed up at his familiar, handsome face, she knew that he was the real home she had been missing all her life.

She was finally home.

And everything else they could manage.

It was her last coherent thought before she lost herself in the heat of his touch.

* * *

><p>AN: I can't believe I actually finished. When I started, I admit that I didn't have much of a plan, but I kept going, plodding along and inspired by all of your lovely reviews and constant support. Big thanks to those who were brave enough to offer critique, I learned and feel like I am a better writer for it. Thank you to those who offered detailed comments, I know that it takes time to do so and it really inspired me to continue. Thanks to everyone who offered squees and love. All reviews I read multiple times and I cherish each and every one! I've been hanging around a few other fanfic categories, and I am very sure that the Mass Effect readers are the absolute BEST (and of course I am partial to the James Vega fans!). All of you have been so very generous with your support, even when I have faltered and bumbled through a few chapters, and even now I falter and bumble and can't find the right words to convey just how very grateful I am.

So, thank you!


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